It's hard to say if the climb was worth it

I know they push and press convincingly that
the climb is always worth it, but is it really?
I am left scraped up and battered
from all the boulders
and the wolves
and all the **** thorns
and left wondering if I really made it out better on the other side

There's always another mountain

And is it worth it?
To what end do we climb?
To what purpose do we trudge tirelessly up the mountainside,
wondering when we will reach the top?
I have reached the top many times
And there is always another **** mountain to climb
on the other side

So it's hard to say if the climb was worth it

And that is not to say I am done climbing
Though I question, my body falls back into the rhythm of the climb
ignores the scrapes and bruises
ignores the way the wolves nip at my heels
because I too always feel there is victory at the top
believe the nicks come with the climb
believe that if I just reach the top, then I can be free

But there's always another mountain

And what did I gain more than experience?
More than scars, and disappointment
Does it even matter that I have beaten the mountain
if nothing ever changes but my own weariness?
It is insanity, the very climb we repeat
over and over
as if there will ever be a different outcome

It's hard to say if the climb was worth it