Today I went over the falls.
It was a beautiful plummet.
Do not mistake my descent for tragedy.
In the cold water I was purified.
Baptized.
Made to realize.
That angel wings are human things.
And mine own, though tarnished, are still there.
The spray of mist was magic.
A thousand raindrop worlds.
Reflected so perfectly before my eyes.
Until I hit the rocks.
Broken.
Made to understand.
That pain is also a human thing.
And mine own, so much like many others.
Will pass.
Copyright 2004 Brendan Whiting
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