Beyond My Fence (Draft 2)

Here I had lay,
splaying across the grasses while I gaze at the ranges.
That once upon ago I had viewed behind a rail,
and always came back,
as if winter frozen over.

In the moment, when I took my first step, I felt shock,
no word uttered—not even in my mind.

A feel, inexplicably unfathomable still chills me, 
and sends tremors down my spine and core.
Perhaps its feeling is attune to dread—
With a foreboding knowing when one knows ice water will pour down their shirt.

But no, t'was not that, not exactly.
For yet another emotion originating from the same origin manifests.
It, I cannot be too sure where it's directed to, but surely it is thrill.
When a child hides in the shadows, with the patience of a crocodile,
waiting for mother or grandmother to leave the cookies cooling.

It was that thrill of success but magnified.
Because I find myself beyond the borders. 
But there was more: the thrill of risk.
Why? I know not.
For it is completely and curiously unusual in my nature.

And now I sit at my desk,
unsure and confounded as to what think of these strange sensations.
(Although a ringing in my head says: Stop thinking and do.)

Like a crescendo of blended harmonies and melodies,
where the player soars with the song that shakes them to their core.
I find my eyes, wide as jewels, as adrenaline piles.
Blood, I hear, pumping to and fro from heart to body. Body to heart.
A dropping dread and trilling thrill.
That I feel even upon the mere presence of thinking,
when I stand (or lay) on untenanted territory. 

From existence to present,
I always stood watching with observing and curious eyes
upon anything it settles.
T'was only until later did I grew curious beyond the borders.

The fence, worn and dinky—that I could so easily tip over—
and explore the horizons of the landscape.
But an invisible force, lodged in my heart, halts me.
It's irrational, irritating, silly, and feeds only on my thoughts, and
gnaws—to this day—at one particular instinct:
Fear.

For I realize—and always known—
—that to walk in the calling landscapes,
Would be walking in unfamiliar territory.

Of my thrumming thumping heart,
I conclude my slow-to-settle musings.
I hope this epic step into the world of ink and quill,
will not be the last.
For I know this feeling of uncertainty, an immortal bird, 
will manifest again sooner or later. 
Whether I handle it well or not.

And deep down, knowing I,
this will be the greatest step in my life.