No more evenings,

as now the night descends,

the shadow of another tragedy

creeps again across my world.

There are no stars, no moon,

no beacons set to guide my steps,

and even the breeze

refuses to move

in the darkness of this night.

What makes me feel the precipice drawing near?

Surely I can sense its breath,

not as I sense a stirring wind,

but rather in the expansiveness

of the unknown depths

beyond its unseen edge.

One step. Two steps and ...another....

How many steps do I dare to blindly take?

Whispers float on stagnant currents,

a cacophony of dire Warnings,

without direction, without surcease.

"Too near," strains their aria,

I have moved too near the edge.

I fear the precipice, and rightly so.

I risk not death,

which will come this night

whether I step or stay,

but gamble instead much more.

One step. Two steps...another...

But which will be my last step?

"Caution!" whispers the strident voices,

Least my liberties be lost forever

within the maw of preservation,

and freedom be sacrificed

as I foolishly defeat myself.

They are right, I concede,

taking another step to unseen edge.

Yesterday, I listened,

tomorrow, I'll listen again,

but, this night, I don't care.

"Beware!" drums the dissonance,

Least my tragedy be counted

in dollars and ratings,

with marketing madness

the only memories I keep.

Yesterday, I listened,

tomorrow, I'll listen again,

but this night, they use the night

to decry what they themselves partake,

and I refuse to care.

"Take heed!" urges wisdom,

"Least my justice be lost

in the stink of retribution,

and righteous outrage confused

with the cancer of empty hate.

I grit my teeth, silently insisting,

I don't care, I don't care, I don't care,

Yesterday, I did,

tomorrow, I will again,

but this night I no longer do.

One step. Two steps...another...

If I fall, will the Warnings follow me into Hell?

Another step becomes a half-step,

as I feel the jagged edge of Armageddon

prickle the sole of my foot.

Five bare toes dangle helplessly

over the outstretched hand of eternity.

The darkness is no less, the foreboding no more,

but still I lower myself to the ground.

The precipice caresses the back of my knees,

and my feet dangle into an abyss

I can sense but never see.

I remember to breath again.

The sound of my lungs seems deafening,

the Warnings finally fade into silence,

and sitting here makes me feel like

a flitting speck in the eye of God.

All my certainties have long since

faded with the acrid smoke of tragedy,

like the illusions they always were.

There is too little justice, far too much hate,

and a thousand more Warnings every day of the year.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I will not care, will not fret,

will not plan, and I'll be damned if I'll listen

to cries of alarm and disquiet

that refuse to honor my quiet.

Yesterday, I listened.

Tomorrow, I will add my voice to theirs.

Tonight, the shadow of tragedy covers my world,

and I just want to sit on the edge of eternity

and dangle my feet into its void.

The shadow masquerading as night enfolds me,

and in her reflective embrace

I will find what comfort I can.

Yesterday, I cared,

tomorrow I will care again,

but tonight I will simply remember.  

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Some anniversaries should be always remembered, but never celebrated. When our reality becomes too horrible to believe, even comprehension must suffer.Sometimes, the only things I can as a poet offer are remorse and comfort because life is just a flash of metaphor and the world still cries after it is gone.

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