We packaged our dreams in spiked boots and razor sharp axes
willing to chip the mountain away to get to the top
of things that bothered us for a while
as we lazed in the summer sun
and wished for winters comfort
and high mountains and snow and ice and sherpas
tugging our dreams upwards
into a blue everest
where other dreams gathered
under colourful flags and photographs.

Our guides knew their goddess well
her whims and fancies
and bells tinkling as she allowed them
to climb upon her back
still tugging our dreams and us
our limited oxygen and pickaxes
and walking ropes.

Off in a line we went
holding on tactfully to our practised steps
and foot by foot we planned to conquer
the mountain of our ambitions
and write ourselves into the record books
as adventurers of conquests.

The goddess gently sneezed
and a gap in the long line of climbers
disappeared forever.
caught in the fist of avalanche fury
our dreams became dust.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago