On the precipice of uncertainty, teetering on the edge of fate,
Will I ascend like an eagle, majestic and bold, Its wings outstretched wide, gracefully ascending the skies, daring to touch the heavens held high,
Or will I plummet and crash, tumbling deep down from the all mighty skies.
If only in youth, we were taught, self reliance's sweet song,
Now as I stand on this precipice, an atlas of life etched on my face,
How does it feel to find ones legs, after a fall so profound?
The world stretches before my eyes, a canvas to be unbound.
Exploration and adventure beckons me like unchartered realms of the human mind and soul,
Shall I venture North, South, or West with a heart and spirit so bold?
East, my cradle, I leave behind, in pursuit of the unknown,
As I yearn to see and know, to touch and feel,
A beauty so wild and rare, in places yet to glow.
How long does it take to rise yet again, after a fall so deep,
To be reborn, fill my soul with a thirst unquenchable,
To be set afire with the wonders of existence.
What awaits beyond this precipice? Love, acceptance, isolation?
We shall never know till we seek our own salvation.
Like Michelangelo's "The Creation of Adam" , souls yearn to intertwine,
In a world that often keeps them apart, a challenge yet so divine.
Yet in this modern world, do such renaissance ideals hold true?
Or are they better left there, a time when dreams flourished.
What would it take to resurrect compassion, ignite our inner fire anew,
To love without conditions, where boundless spirits thrive.
Is this the quest of only this Passionate Psychiatrist?
Or do others yearn for freedom, to break the chains of societies conformities,
Have we grown too cynical, our hearts cold and worn?
Or do we need for a Messiah to rise again and lead us from our soulless day,
To fill us with fervor, make us feel alive and whole again,
Before the scars of trauma drove wedges between us and we became who we are now,
Lost in this desolation of inner solitude and endless anesthesia.
_Passionate Psychiatrist
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