The Jump Poem by Jack Worthington

He fears what he does not know, a wise voice said
Fists of white knuckles, holding tight, dreading
For all under his wrath, there would be no ending
This dejected soul, this petulant soul, was already dead.

But I did not go with the flock
Trusting was never in my being
I broke the chains upon a block
Sheets of prose aiding in my fleeing.

When it started I can't really tell
At first a warning, then foreboding
Waiting for a judgment always guilty
The weight of judgments off-loading.

Life is short, like a flower, like the rain
It does not belong to the paranoid or insane
The flower shrivels the rain drizzles down and fizzles
My conscience now clean, I walk away.

The jump was hard, into the thin cold air
Away from the soul condemned to despair
Alleviated, my heart pounds with delight
Avoiding years of malice and fights.

Was it worth it, it doesn't matter
Moving forward, I strain with confidence and fear
Pitying the poor ones trapped in the latter
No longer petulant, I reach for a beer.

Life has no straight roads
My landlord is the sun
The more we reach for quicksilver
The more we come undone.

Onward.