A Childhood of Jumping Off Rocks

Sometimes it takes chance

To make the leap of faith

Described by so many men

All dead

The leaps

Or little skips

From on moment to the next

One stone sunk in a lake

Another then another

Treacherous slips

Jagged edges scraping skin

But stones sink

Under the weight

Of books in the pack

Penned by your own hand

The accounts of dimensions of jumps,

Of wounds, of rocks in water

Until the weight overcomes

Carrying you forward

Momentum thrusting you

With the push of an immature friend

And wobbling at the edge

Of glass surface

Worries arise

Of water soaked pages

Running with wet ink

But the last leap, the fall

It seems to mean everything.