Comfort's cliff

At the edge of Comfort’s cliff

I see him.

Unlike ones before,

this one is new, fresh, unscathed.

He does not know of love or its poison Ivy.

His youthful body cages no creaking soul,

nor murmurs painful memories -

just innocence -

which dances around his doodled limbs.

Yes, him

who has tied himself to an unfastened rope

with all intentions of throwing himself off.

Him

who has laid himself down

on hot coal; determined

he can handle her in all her rage.

Her blackened soul pangs

from an older life,

throbbing under the crumbling ash

of a painful memory.

She knows of love and its poison Ivy.

Her aging body cages a creaking soul,

which moans of aching sorrow

and drags her towards the edge.

But there he stands;

new, fresh, unscathed

and she sees him through surrendering eyes

as he holds the rope

with all intentions of saving her from

comfort’s cliff.