Poetry

The Plunge

Turning, I saw

A shimmering wall

Of memories so fond

I dare not stop.

A dark, churning whirlpool

Draws me in

With omnipotence

And the glimpse of a carrot.

I enter with a frown

The joy of leaving a smile

Terror has no bounds

As a picture frame.

Disappointment has a prelude

Expectation a dread

And reality a sting

Beyond price.