The Towering Tower

I find myself atop a towering tower

To edge over is a plummeting death

Would I jump, the breeze to make my body a flower?

Or would I inhale a deep sparse breath

And turn from thoughts ever so sour?

Would I jump with reason distinct?

The purpose understandable?

Or would it be of innate instinct—

My soul to be so damnable

Would there be something to gain?

Something to lose?

Would I be sick of the pain?

Or would the reason to all be news?

Or would it be out of simple tiredness?

Repetitive is this oh, so melancholy life

Or would it be of sickness—

So sick of the strife

Or rather a taking to curiosity?

Curious to meet so mysterious an end

Or to all am I but a despicable atrocity?

My last care about the world now spent

Yet, throughout the fall…

Would I flail? Would I shout?

Would my regret never stall?

Or would I simply fling myself about?

Or would I be thoroughly calm—

Hypnotized into tranquility,

Not fretting at all

Simply to myself but jest, not humility?

But the End—Oh, what could it be?

Perhaps a vessel of black, all-consuming

For light, my eyes to never again see

My eternity to be thus: dooming

Or a long lonely tunnel would I behold?

My eyes, from the light, to be painfully burning?

Alas, the other side—What does it withhold?

Wading forth, my eyes never turning

Or falling, would I stay?

Falling forever and all

My body to slowly decay

Wishing not for this ungodly fall

Or be there flames to burn flesh so searing

Amongst evil souls of despair?

Torment to always be sneering

Cut off are my last gulps of air

Or would the tower I again be atop?

Plunging again, my soul to always endure

My death on a loop, never to stop

All over again, to be sure

Thinking this all, I step back before

I embark upon such a questionable fate

I take a deep breath as caution I forgo

And jump

For more, click here.