I have walked across the meadows
And smelt the flowers, fresh and new.
I have skirted the edge, gazed upon the rocky *****
Seen the steep mountaintops.
I have experienced the terrain
And wiped the beaded sweat
From my furrowed brow.
I have slipped and fallen
Not wanting to rise, too try again.
I have time and again rubbed raw
My palms and feet to reach the summit,
And yet the wind knocks me down
And the stubborn mountain will not fall
It will not yield; so cold it is, so distant.
Anguish follows, then hurt, and pain.
And soon my pity is swept away on those winds I thought to be my foe.
I look upon the mountaintop
And realize I could not climb
And will not climb
This mound of earth.
I will turn my back to it
And let my anger simmer
Ill let it boil and spill over unto the ground
Leaving burn marks as a “beware of danger” sign.
Now all yearn to reach the top
Is buried under an avalanche of soil.
I turn my back away from it
And look towards that meadow.
It is not as green, or lush, or sweet
As I remember it to be.