Poem Hunter
On The Edge
SOM (A Thursday,1987 / Tiobraid Arann)

On The Edge

Poem By Seán O Muiríosa

Oh, how alone the little birds must feel right at the edge!

Having to make that salient leap for the first time;
having to let go and then flap and flap incessantly,
until something works out and you begin to soar.

A little bird is nudged out, pushed out by the nest
with strict instructions for every blooming moment
that its unskilled wings can expect to encounter.

But how can unskilled wings survive when
in their eyes something is getting closer and closer?
Oh, the pain that must well up and these times

of confusion! Even beauty is cloaked in it.
How can Splat! Splat! Splat! occur?
When the morning sun suggests otherwise.

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Comments (2)

hey you, your poetic depth is maturing quite well. this poem reminds me of the essential courage the heart must have to take such risks as beating.. I've always wondered exactly what tells a newborn after 9 months of never breathing, to take that first breath of air. how does it know that it must do something it has not needed before for the sake of survival. I suppose one could say that the purpose of life upon the first breath is fulfilled.. a most interesting piece my friend...i look forward to more. Always, Amberlee
Nice poem Sean! The first time of attempting to do something is never easy but at the end experience is needed to achieve more in life well done! Your friend HBH