Don’t Walk Near The Edge

Don’t Walk Near The Edge

Don’t walk near the edge, she whispered,

The ground gives way when no one sees.

Shadows lean and watch your balance,

Waiting for a slip to steal your ease.

The wind bites sharper at the cliffs,

It carries voices not your own.

They speak in fragments, half-remembered,

Pulling at the roots you’ve always known.

A step too far, a breath too deep,

The world tilts under careless weight.

Rocks sigh and crumble without warning,

And silence crouches at the gate.

She saw the dark in others’ eyes,

A hollow echo of her own fear.

It hummed beneath her trembling fingers,

A warning no one else could hear.

The path grows thin where light won’t follow,

Twisting like a question you can’t name.

Every branch and stone conspires

To test the strength you call by name.

She counted steps, one, two, three,

Listening to the cliff’s low song.

The earth beneath seemed barely holding,

A fragile promise stretched too long.

Don’t walk near the edge, she pleaded,

Even the brave can fall too fast.

Some falls leave no trace behind,

Only the echo of a shadow cast.

Still, footsteps wander, drawn to darkness,

As if it waits with open hands.

She turned away, eyes to the valley,

Knowing some edges are made to stand.