I wrote this for my dad about 20 years ago. 

 

So close to the edge again, again, again.

So close you can see it's verges, it's plunges, 

It's deep dark places.

You hear it's snapping, tightly stretched wires.

You feel it's all pervading dampness and smell

Something so personal and familiar

It has no name in this world.

So close to the edge again, again, again. 

You've  been here so many times

You know the drill.

Don't be tempted. Dont look down.

And whatever else, don't try to run.

Keep still. Feel the draw.

Listen. Smell. And breathe.

And breathe again.

Don't look down and don't look away.

Feel the bleak turmoil, but keep still anyway.

You stand on tiptoe on that precipice and reach out your arms

And feel the empty space and hear the sickly thud.

Stronger than the empty silence, but for now,

So close to the edge, keep still.