This poem isn't as old as some of my others. It's a simple poem, in some respects. In others, it has a little complexity to it. But I think you'll get the message, a bit spiritual, and I hope you like it.

The Journeymaker's First and Last Hope

I have teeter-tottered on the brink of the sin
as if wavering on the edge of a cliff,
toes clinging to the balance
like claws of a hawk capturing its meal;
I have grasped for an anchor to hold
where none existed
while being tossed toward every angle
by a weak wind
and prayed I wouldn't fall.
It is the silence of the air around,
thin from being so high,
that produces confidence to claim victory
when strangled by the fog.
When waves of the sea slap bouts of anger
against the wall of this mountain
I will find peace that defies understanding.
Though I may slip over the edge
I will land in the ever-present hand of God
lingering somewhere near the bottom of my drift.