Just A Mountain
I’m sitting on the edge of a volcano
and I have this weird uneasy feeling,
like I’m sitting on the edge of a volcano.
I wouldn’t say it’s early, the sky’s crawling with stars
and I’m still looking for something to do
with all these reasons I have.
Let’s be honest, it’s late.
In another time I’m no doubt cuter
and better adapted to island life.
Tonight I live in a place where every light’s a red light
and a man doesn’t know whether to brake or step inside.
Nothing like being suspended
between the frightened and the fallen
to notice how a belief in nothing trumps nothing at all.
Still, I’ll probably hold onto it just in case
like the joker in a deck of cards.
Here’s the joke: I sit on my volcano
knowing it could blow my ass off.
Knowing I could make it
just a mountain, right now, if I wanted to.
Dill Darling lives between London and the Cotswolds. Her poems have appeared in a number of magazines and anthologies and she’s currently working towards a first pamphlet. She also paints and writes the odd song lyric.