Speedy's note: Not much to say to this one, I suppose. I wrote it a few months ago actually and a few of its lines feel funny and weird to me now. But I'll just leave them that way, I guess.
It's a Knuckles poem, first person, and it's a little dark. Well, darker than my usual cheeriness. It was based on this distinct feeling of being… stuck on the narrow ridge, the fine line between two worlds, two ways to take. Which one to choose it not always entirely up to you.
On The Edge
...
Here I stand
At the edge on my own
Before me a pitfall
And behind me home
…
A mystic island
As old as time
Enchanted with power
From the Emerald's shrine
…
The Master of Seven
Of a beauty divine
The might of ages
Conserved in its shine
…
Its power is tempting
And puts it at risk
Hence I'm to stand by
As long as it exists
…
The island and Emerald
That make up my life
Are keeping me chained
Isolation the price
…
A single jump
Could leave it behind
The weight of the duty
Couldn't keep me confined
…
But look down from the edge
At the world below
Large and confusing
Like nothing I know
…
A distant, strange world
And I am still scared
Of its ways and dangers
I'm not quite prepared
…
Won't risk my world
For no promised gain
Losing myself
Worse than the chain
…
I would just get lost
Stranded to roam
Refuge stays here
This island – still home
…
So I just come to the edge
And keep looking down
Too afraid to jump…
Or too clever to drown