8. I hear the children cry and I feel their pain sometimes I Go to places Where I feel the wind on my face. On the edge The Brilliance leaps at Heaven mortal Dare Not tread tree tops sparkle death proceeds twisting, turning, falling The Edge a Razor Glistening The Sun on Clouds Rays poke Fun at human dignity Survival is Not essential living is !!!! --- The wake of Snow arcs Through the Clear Blue Sky The Cold Bites my face Becoming one the edge -Reality-God?