There he stood, a man on the edge
Of what you wonder?
His patience, his sanity

There was beauty he found
Staring out from that ledge
Of the life that flowed under
Vain and alacrity

Would they look up at him and his desperation
Desperate for what?
Attention or love?

Would they turn in disgust?
Ignore the tall foundation
Keep their mouths shut
And their eyes from above?

His eyes told a story, a poem of sorrow
In a language unknown
To the naive and strong hearted

If you were to pull the strings
An instrument most hollow
It would be an unpleasant tone
Distorted and unguarded

His arms are spread wide
Where will he go?
Taking an invisible step

With the wind at his face
He believed he can fly
Ways from worry and woe
And so he lept.