Standing on the edge
Where everything brittle must eventually break
Where every painting is a tempting of fate

I do think about these things
But not deeply, and not with too much weight
Because I try to tread lightly on the edge of fate

But recent fractures
Can’t be ignored nor can I the consequences understate
Should I be a fool with the my easel and miscalculate
And become a statistic for the local papers to state
All for the homage to beauty that I’d hoped to create
If the ground would only have held for one more day
So with caution I step, and I work, and I pray
Because more than anything I would surely hate
To subjugate
My wife and my kids
To suffer from my foolishly befallen fate