Standing on the edge of the cliff
The cliff of the familiar
I gazed transfixed
Into the unknown
The unexperienced
Unexplained and unrealised
And my soul was curious
Longing for the taste
Unsure what it would be
Breath became short
Limbs tensed expectantly
But the creative moment awaited
Beckoning, calling
The territory of the poet
The artist
The traveller of imagination
The prisoner of expectation
Would I jump and lose myself?
Would the now unknown be the rich bed
Of living dreams on which I’d lie
Living at the edge of mystery
Finding reason in this unknown
Harvesting the seeds of potential
Germinating and yet to be
Awaiting a soul on which to write
And bring into being

I jumped.