The uphill’s getting really hard to climb,
and I am proving really hard to find,
I’m hustling at my mind for these words.
I tell myself relax,
and let the world take a spin
and that you can try to write again.
I’ve been walking up and down
the lanes of this street,
every day just seems to try and last the least.
So I push myself harder every morning,
and I keep telling myself,
you must unleash the beast.
So here I go, punching myself in the face,
hating my next moves, cause I know I need to rest.
No matter how much I keep feeling that I’m blessed,
the lemons I get, hold me fixed in a trance.
I find myself thinking that life must be a test,
I am a mess and that I always fail when it is a race.
I hate even at my negative thoughts,
but it is the opportunities that I once lost
that hit the hardest and that hurt the most.
Now each dawn is a painful toast,
I fear my mind just could be lost
and these memories that haunt
don’t help to prove me wrong.
They say it’s a cold place at the top,
you get greedy and the power gets you drunk.
It is lonely being myself,
when it is only you at the peaks of the everest.
A few will only try to scale your peaks,
but they crumble by dusk
when the freezing winds hit.
It is a steep climb and a fall,
everybody knows it’s scary to have it all,
because with the height,
always comes gravity and the foes.
So this dusk I run along the highway,
stares and friends question why I do it anyway.
I guess I’m just a boy enjoying play with his toy.
I stand for the race, the loyal and the lovely,
I choose to belong, to the home and beyond,
for it is a planet of vastness and surprises.
Survival for the fittest is one strategy,
and toughness can get you so far
especially when life hangs in the balance,
but kindness can evade that tragedy.
Compassion is the bridge
to continents and souls,
and honesty hurts only once
unlike the false bubble of a lie.
It is a sore lesson to swirl in one’s mouth,
and so is ginger and the lemon that heals,
or just like the pepper we spit,
the damage is inevident.
I am now approaching my horizon,
I can see my house in the distance.
The lights are off and the curtains drawn cause no one’s home.
The cold wind beacons at me, a silhouette of a beast a welcome in disguise.
I shiver and shrug, and I smile in the dark before a sigh.
The downhill is a tumble,
down the valley I roll like a full drum of ale.
My feet hurt from the constant trudge,
and though I see heaven in the distance,
I am addicted to the voyage and I’m in admittance.
I am a traveler, and discipline is my code,
the pain is my coat, and kindness is my fort.
I met myself at a crossroads,
a mighty stallion with the power of a lion,
the wings of a robin and the will of God.
theScribe 