At The Brink Of Tomorrow Poem by Dean Bottomley

Standing on the brink of tomorrow,
Perched on the edge of the unknown.
Behind is mere history, vanished, gone.
Dare one risk to go on?

The past was so warm, familiar and safe.
The womb to nurture a babe.
Ahead is uncertainty, doubt and change
Only a fool goes on.

But look, in the pink of the years gone by,
Are patches of sticky black.
Skeletal fingers that reach through the time
Holding you back with fear.

Will I let their grip root me in the past?
As I fear what lies ahead.
Poised at the chasm, I look back, and then:
Holding your hand, I jump! ! !