things unneeded fill our days –
like possibly,
perhaps,
maybe…
how often do we put aside
what matters,
holding our breath –
clinching our hands,
expecting even Atlas to shrug –
for what?
a hand we feel compelled to hold?
replies to questions – unheard?
as callous as forget,
intangible as why –
we build our lives on
could,
should –
then wonder what went wrong
when trapped in lonely –
unremembered as even midnight
by pompous dawn!
standing too close to the edge 