Poetry
My world is an ever-climbing mountain.
I cannot see the top.
I have been climbing for ages
On this rocky, convoluted road.
My legs feel like rubber.
I don�t know how much longer I will last.
This road is too hard.
I want to turn back.
But I look behind me,
And the path has disappeared.
The slope is more treacherous than when I scaled it.
I want to collapse and faint.
Unconsciousness is better than awareness.
Knowing nothing, feeling nothing�
Whether sorrow or joy�
Is better than this torture.
But I cannot collapse.
I cannot faint.
Something keeps my consciousness,
Something keeps me moving.
Is it the Enemy?
Does he want to drive me so hard
That I abandon the one who set me on this path?
Or is it my Friend,
Who is not letting the Enemy gain control
And crush me?
Still, something pulls at my heart.
I cannot help but climb.
How crazy do you have to be
To think climbing this mountain is a good idea?
I must have been the craziest person alive
When I started at the base all those ages ago.
There was some good reason
That started me on this journey.
Something that made this trek
Worthwhile.
I knew this would be difficult.
What reason convinced me?
I stop and look around me.
All I can see
Is the path at my feet
And the opaque clouds surrounding me.
I look behind me.
The fog cover lifts.
I can see the sky.
I can see the sky!
It is the end of day.
The sun is setting.
The sky looks like a sea made out of air.
But no sea ever varied in color like this.
The golden sunlight melts into shades of orange and pink.
The rays catch the bottoms of the clouds,
While the tops are shadowed by the coming night.
The sight changes as the minutes pass.
The light slowly fades away.
Left is a beautiful blanket of indigo,
Sprinkled with glittering stars.
A wave of love washes over me.
I close my eyes in remembrance.
I took this road for love.
I took this road because the Painter of the Sunsets
Loves me.
The One who scattered the stars in the sky
Gave up his life that I might live abundantly.
He bid me take this road.
I was pleased to obey.
His love sustains me.
It is sufficient for every circumstance.
How could I forget a love so divine?
The fog returns.
I emerge from my thoughts.
I look up the mountain.
I can see no more than before.
The road looks easier.
I continue on with renewed strength.
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I wish I could write poetry.
I'm on that same mountain,
though I'm ALWAYS in a state
of faint: forever, trying to
lodge my feet out of the
half-dried clay. While I'm
cussing, and trying to grab
on to the nearest twig growing
out of the dirt, I look behind
me...and see a Hand cupped
under my rump, and a Voice
saying, "Go on, child! I got'cha!" God Bless.