We’re on the brink of something grim – 
     The edge of something scary.
We tread the ledge the fiendish skim
     With senses keen and wary 
Of those who creep and those who crawl,
Of those who scale the garden wall
With fangs that pierce and claws that maul, 
     And feral eyes of cherry – 
Our plumpest chances (now twig slim)
     Are hampered by the hairy. 
We wade through rising tides of lies 
     That flood our fitful dreams. 
We huddle neath the muddy skies – 
     Our silver-lining schemes
Lie shredded in the garden shed
As gruesome rumors bleed then spread – 
These beastly deeds of ceaseless dread
     Will tug at fraying seams 
Of sanity till whispered sighs
     Are shrieking-banshee screams…
We’re on the brink of something grim – 
     The edge of something scary.

Susan Jarvis Bryant

If you have any thoughts about this poem, Susan Jarvis Bryant would be pleased to hear them