Clinging

Clinging
to the slippery faces
granite, grey and stable
the problem
not starting as such, but
difficulties surmount with time

Time and distance
clinging to a narrow handhold
wondering why I chose this day
this mountain, this time
in my life?

I might be back in the city
and all of this being a bad dream
The city with its noisy faces and
heavy air, a relative no doubt
where the air is so thin, it hardly
passes into my lungs, before exiting
again,

The decision of going up
versus the one of falling down
is not entirely apparent to me
at this moment in time,
a broken leg, or broken back
lying with my eyes in the sky
no one to morn my passing,

Taking a chance to climb up again
the narrow ledges, cracks and a route
strangely unfamiliar, although just
having been on, forgotten then, danger lurks
my mind must have been somewhere else
just not on the job at hand,

Having attained the top again, then resting
assessing, contemplating, reassuring those
that unbeknownst to me, might have worried
if indeed I did fall to a most certain end, after
being so tired and confused

The day fades as my feet meet the trail again
behind me, in the back of my mind, fading now
the ledge which might have born my name
of he, who lost his life on this spot,
woe be him
such a painful end
to such a young existence….

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Author: notthedane56

My heathen tendencies are waiting to blossom at the Mid-Summer Evening in Denmark. In a Country that professes to have an overwhelming population of believers in the Christian Faith, I am always reassured by their pagan ways, at least one night per year. I won't be throwing myself on the bonfire, but I plan on being warmed by the thoughts of the fun-loving Danes, burning witches at the stake, while singing songs and drinking beer!

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