Life on the Edge ~ Brent Harris

Both obvious and subliminal, consuming the sublime
Though it might slip in softly upon the wings of song
You may discover it on a mountain that you will climb
It may stagger you when you step up to right a wrong

It might be beneath your iron, on your ironing board
In running, walking, dancing or when reading a book
Or spy it when happy, sad, even when you are bored
Because it is always there, no matter where you look