I stare out into the mountain’s abyss.
The climb is endured, just for this.
To see, from the higher vantage point.
It is a type of bliss, that corrodes all of life’s moments of unhappiness.
At some point poetry ends, and the words stop flowing and rhyming.
It is up to the writer, to form poetry higher.
I stare out, into the surmounting journey of agony.
The agony corroded my mind and heart, rapidly.
But I’m fine now.
I can see the clouds now.
It’s worth it,
all of the days of searching,
and figuring out who you are.
Stumbling on rocks, and blocks.
I stop, to adhere to the flow of harmony.
The way, is sacred, and it doesn’t require robbery…
The way, is a balance of work and play,
Mainly play, and I think I’ll stay
on this level of mountainous climb for a second.
I don’t want to be wretched, tired and dead within.
I smell the roses, and I eat a few grapes.
Because that future date, may never come.
And today could be my last.
So I rather feel my way out, and know from inside, whether or not to pursue or steady.
Because either way you put it,
Whether or not they say I shouldn’t or couldn’t,
I am, in fact, noble and ready.