On this brink of everything I know,
I wait at the precipice of incertitude.

I assume the form of the beholder,
But realize beauty is in the eye of the numinous landscapes
that eclipse human sentience.

I reach my zenith.
Transcendence without invigilation.
Solitude with doubt.

I am not an acolyte of faith,
And yet I sense the illumination of that which
appeals to our credulity, and our servility.

My gaze is held for a sip of momentary grace,
And a taste of alleviation.

My eyes close,
But reveal that my gaze is still held.

Attainable redemption, I simply must grasp
the form of that which I would condemn - human embodiment.
Endowed with the limits of our maker.
Impotency, evil, perhaps both?

I still breathe at the precipice,
But I no longer wait

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