To the edge of the cliff,
On the edge of the Rift,
An expanse of dust and rock,
My significance thusly mocked.

A stumble and I'll extinguish
As if I were home in snow.
So moved to think of grace
Given at the Maker's wish.

Trucks speed round the curb,
Racing to and fro;
If I were at the wheel,
Over the edge I'd go.

The lot moves fast, but skilled,
And I am no rival.
I progress at a slower rate,
Mine eyes captivated at the Rift.

And so I stand and wonder
At the edge of the earth,
My path now gone asunder
From the narrow route at birth.

I have looked –
Captivated – for perhaps too long.
The Rift is a wonder,
And the road is not.

If I go over, at least
I have seen the beauty
Of wide open spaces
And the free range of the wildebeest.

But I'm driving home,
And that, the edge is not.

I know where I am destined,
And yet my soul is tested.
Come now, we're well rested,
The battle just begun.
Let not your eyes linger
On beautiful sights,
But train your mind to
The treasures in store.

Drive on,
And I soon shall be

IN the Rift.

Author's Note: This poem was written in Kenya while I was en route to the Massai Mara via Nairobi. During the approximately six hour drive, we drove by and through the Great Rift Valley, pictured in the photo accompanying this article. That ride inspired this poem.