He stood on the precipice
surveying all around,
a ravine flowed towards the crust,
ebbed, meandered below
the brittle vantage point.
A flint that had lain for years
was now clutched under
his tightened grasp.
Pins and needles
in shape, form
rough hewn, unfashioned.
It was painful to hold
except for one smoothed area.
Taking a step towards the edge,
he discarded the stone,
watching as it fell many metres.
Some things are best left unfinished
he thought as the rock hit bottom.
