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World's appetite for devastation,
leaves it always hungry
Those who feel like nothing,
will be the ones to do something
Behind every shadow, is a long battle,
Climbing our dreams. Don't fall off the ladder.
Scrapping by without a lending hand
The rent raised, they’d never understand

Streets to wander with hearts heavy laden
A carefree spirit, hopes to have made it

While piles stack up with unpaid bills
They wish for freedom, to run to a hill

Without the trivialities and endless payments
To be well-off enough, not even famous

Toiling work and nights unslept
A bucket of savings slowly kept

And the climb and perseverance away from being poor
Gained them the freedom out of the door

Of sleepless nights and unfed stomachs
Their pitiful despair gave way to a plummet
Every step I take towards living,
I'm stepping away from my calling
I'm stepping everywhere
end up getting nowhere
in search of stepping stones,
to move up the ladder
without grasping the idea
that these stones,
in due time,
will be steps I climb
up the downstair.
Am I trying to climb the ladder to nowhere?
Am I stepping up or down?
Am I kicking myself around?
Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
As we flow imagining we motivate
our selves to go on,
crack the whip,
try oomph-ala
like… take and read the little book, or swallow
what you're told…

for any mind a thinking thing is companion,
welcome the strange
little light leading on,
for minded beings do not live by bread, alone.

Inside, we see alone.
Outside, I see all one. Am I enlightened,

I ask my closest confidant.
Ah, I utter

as a sigh, slack jawed awe, a we is made
right now --
me and thee, dear, dear reading being thinking

do you mind?
Did I capitalize on your confusion to stick
a point into a bubble you believed?

How would you know?
{1.
Omphalos is the hub of any bubble of being,
center of gravity, if I may
make that assertion
as certain as
may be in these days of knowledge expansion.
May is you word, now. You know.}
A stitch. Point of purpose, needles need thread, thread needs fiber, fibers must be spun. the point of a needle is for piercing, the eye is for sewing edge to edge, with thread. Nothing is simple.
Maria Mitea Sep 2020
I remember you!
Climbing grapevine!

In my childhood yard,
You were climbing,
every year, little by little,
towards the sun, and blue sky,
leaving me on the ground,

Watching you year after year,
Your dexterity as a free climber,
Your character attracted me
When one day your dark black grapes came,
I wanted to be you, the climber.

Only you,
climbed higher, and higher,
and your grapes grew higher,
and higher,
green little eyes
looking from down
at your black sweet grapes,
in the middle of the summer.

My mother's voice,
My mother's voice never lefts me;
"Darling, do you need the ladder?
I can set the ladder for you,
You can pick the grapes
If you want some fresh grapes?"

Oh, mother!
Don't you see it!?
I reach the grapes from the ground.

I remember you!
Climbing grapevine!
I remember you!

I see you today only as a picture,
You make me climb up again.
Missing Home!
Elias J Davidson Aug 2020
I am a fortress.
"Build," was the command; I did.
Need a ladder out.

wherever you go
you will find a family there
climb over yourself
August 2020
Andrew Rueter Aug 2020
When I was young I was told to shoot for the stars
but once I got older I was told to climb a ladder
a tumultuous ladder
with rungs of compromise and concession
some of them just pointless lessons.
Ascenders climb to reach happiness
or escape misery
but I climb to climb
to occupy my time.

I spend all my energy climbing
while jet packs and rocket ships blast by me
their exhaust is blinding and suffocating.
I see bodies fall just as fast in the other direction
reachers who lost their grip
now fall to the bottom
reminding me of the gravity of my situation.

It's hard to say if I'll survive
when some people survive a fall from the top
while others die slipping two feet off the ground.
The fragility and resilience of life
seems arbitrary and random
but everyone ends up in the ground eventually.

Those above me constantly add to the ladder
so I make no progress.
Those below me constantly dig beneath it
so I keep sinking.
Climbing and going nowhere
suspended in air
at a certain point progress
becomes not falling off
and maintaining my grip
through extreme turbulence.

My hands are calloused and ******
the further up I go
the more intense the turbulence
until fear shakes my body
harder than the wind ever could.
The ladder starts splintering into my hand
until I don't know how much more I can withstand
so I devise a plan
to utilize my fellow climbers.

I find companions for assistance
I call them helpers
they're the top shelfers
I want to surround myself with.
They help me up the ladder
lifting me with encouragement
or their arms when words aren't enough
just to help me up.
Whenever I'm knocked down a few pegs
they give me back my legs
and hold my ladder steady
making life on the ladder livable
but they don't hang around forever
because this ladder I climb is mine
and everyone has their own ladder to climb.

I didn't ask for this vertical trajectory
but when my options are die or climb
I choose the ladder.
I saw a lavender ladder
Parked against a freshly painted ivory-beige wall

Wonder how many men climbed
Up the lavender ladder
In blue overalls

Wonder what the lavender ladder saw
At the top
Was it witness to any falls
Sharon Talbot Jul 2020
Imagine the bombed-out fields of Japan,
Wandering families with no food.
A little girl soothes her brother,
Who is so hungry, he must cry.
“Let’s imagine a menu,” she tells him
And the tears stop for a while.
Many years later, her son will say,
Of a balloon without a skin,
“There’s no point if you don’t imagine it.”
Imagine Britain after the Blitz,
Young man roaming the streets
Mind craving, surviving on 45 records
From the USA. How could he help
But become an artist and rebel?
Picture the canyons of New York City,
Where galleries peek like jewels in the dust.
The girl from Japan and the British boy,
Both imagining something more.
She sets up a ladder to the sky,
He wanders in and climbs it
And to all his questions, especially “Why?”
She has imagined a small and simple “Yes.”
You can probably guess which girl and boy this is about...
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