Living on the Edge
The precipice is narrow, and the drop is vastly deep,
Yet millions walk the jagged line before they go to sleep.
We dance upon the border where the safety starts to fade,
Ignoring every warning that the cautious mind has made.
From the pulse of reckless engines to the lure of easy gold,
Here is the tale of modern risks, a story often told.
The Rush of the Machine
The needle hits the hundred mark, the asphalt is a blur,
A symphony of pistons and a high-octane purr.
We weave between the lanes of steel, a needle through a cloth,
Attracted to the headlights like a frantic, frenzied moth.
No belt can hold the ego when the spirit wants to fly,
But gravity is patient underneath the midnight sky.
One patch of oil, one lapse of sight, one phone screen’s glowing light,
Can turn a morning commute into an everlasting night.
The Gamble of the Gut
We feast on salt and sugar, on the fats that slow the beat,
And treat the temple of the soul like trash upon the street.
The heart, a steady drummer, starts to skip a heavy pace,
While we ignore the lines of grey appearing on the face.
"I’ll start the change tomorrow," is the anthem of the weak,
As we climb the greasy mountain toward a hollow, plastic peak.
To live upon the edge of health is a slow and silent fall,
Until the body breaks beneath the weight of it all.
