The edge of loss

A precipice like no other
Beyond a simple reflective part
A piece, a shred, a tear, what has it to be?
A march of its soul, a marker of the signs
Something so sweet a fragrance
A lure that is placed within the muck
Perhaps a heaven sent song, a whisper of a march
Taken in tandem, this is not a thought or dream to share
Let it be that final swan song being whispered.

If always the pied piper's devotion to the cause
That fated violinist who plays his solo
Only to find that aim is not one thing that can be followed so quickly
Never to be bound to a single tempo
Only to see the edge of the tranquil

The tepid
The single
The soldier
The Wise one
The limitation
The gamble
The Offer
The song

So many things that leave an edge
Or perhaps are the cause of the edge
What will it be if ever a restful home?
If only then to realize that it is one way
A charitable target known as the edge of loss.