It's all the words that are jumbled in your head. It's all the emotions burning your veins. It's the way your mouth dries And how your throat clams up. It's when you have so much to say, But you can't say anything at all. It's like trying to climb up the ladder, To the promising light above. To reach the top, for it to be too blinding And throws you back down. Your left to mend the broken pieces With blood tears and scratching screams because You were already broken. You fell off that ladder Over and over and over again. The blisters on your hands, The sweat dripping down your back, The ache in your legs, Push you to the the top. You keep climbing and climbing. You don't know to what, But you see the light. And it settles into your eyes like fresh roses and into your mind like a dream. It never shuts off. It never wavers. It's always on. So when the shadows from below try to pull you down and succeed, Or when the tides swallow you whole, the salt burning your cuts, And when that water enters your mouth, your voice to an inaudible whisper, Remember that it wasn't the ladder or the water or the shadows or the burning cuts that were supposed to lift you up to the top as a warrior. It was your blistered hands, The working sweat seeping down your hallow neck, And the ache in your legs That was supposed to follow a dream. Not a blind hope.