Ripples

Balancing on a razor precipice,

with pain to one side, numbness on the other

each calling out to me, with voices that are barely heard,

yet pierce through to the seat of the world.

Honeyed voices, devilish voices, whispering secrets,

like pebbles tossed into secluded pools of shame and anger,

causing small ripples that fade with time,

yet change the present irrevocably, forever.

For while the pool may return to stillness, to clarity,

some part of it would remember the stones breaking its surface,

plunging into its depths,

with water and stone eventually becoming as one,

unnoticed; just another rock in just another pool.