Dust (Edit)

[Roggen]

Ten decades of occasions,
at the same blunt edge.
 
I tip forward–
My breath thins, and hands freeze.
Your Face, Mirrored in the rivers black
early enough to practice the break.
 
Maybe a hundred times more,
And I go blind–
 
Every step is calculated.
It’s the evening that decides–
While I slipe of the edge.






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Ten decades of occasions at the same dull edge,

One hundred times more and I swear.

I lean forward.

I hold on.

I resist.

I let go.

Every step is routine.

the evening decides —
It settles like dust,

all over.



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One hundred times at the same edge 
One hundred times more and I swear
I lean forward 
I hold on 
I resist 
I let go
Every step is routine 
The evening decides 
Like dust 
It’s all over 




—-




This is the first poem I ever wrote, and it’s quite personal, so please be harsh. Changed it a few times, still not happy.