The Daily Cliff

Now that I'm 23
It's possible I finally see
What would have been of benefit at 12.
That I should Live.
Not the shallow breathing
of those peasants
serving good Telemachus
in neat, unrumpled togas
But the reckless passion of the
traveler, his father
Yet a living that demands no ship,
no far off shores.
Rather risks
little death leaps
off the daily cliff
Coming to the edge
where the sign says
"Beware"
Risks like forgetting
                letting go
         and letting beauty grow
         wild without answering the questions
Like picking up
        the little silver pen
        I found on the roller coaster
        and jotting down the thoughts
        even if I know
        they never will be read
Like slowing down
        enjoying
        sharp edges
        and
        soft centers
        and all the range of fire and ice between
Then being honest all about it
without the need to analyze
                          or apologize
Like listening to the music
and not just to the words