Imposter.

Thirty-six stories high on a tightrope I sit

For these breathtaking views I feel I am unfit.

I look down, ashamed of my spot in the sky

Petrified I’ll soon plummet; my luck will run dry

.

But the more I contract and the more I retreat

The more I acquaint with the far-below street

My fear that this cloud-swept landscape will soon fade

Makes it all the more likely my doom will pervade

.

So I muster the courage to tilt up my chin

And to feel the sun and the breeze on my skin

I’ll find my way back if and when I capsize

Thirty-six stories high on a tightrope I rise

.