Towards the Apex

From the peak’s edge, along the mountain’s side,
I gaze upon distant trees, mere blades of grass; people, but tiny children.
The weight of all else is but dust upon my nail; who even casts a glance my way?
Yet, my motion ceased, abrupt and stark.

My heart’s thrum, a frantic drum, pulsed through my very breath, a tremor racing to my fingertips.
Am I truly so high?
The stone beneath my feet yielded like shifting sand, and the violent shudder of my hands wore away the very rock held fast between my fingers.
A deep sigh’s wind, stirring dust, cemented my unease. It whispered truths of my fleeting form.

In the tear-stained mirror, the nightmare of the final climb surfaced.
Driven by a fierce need to prove, to offer some reply, I had scaled an impassable wall, my body wracked with pain.
But as I rested by its edge, when the cold wind brushed my feet, an inner whisper urged me to plunge.
Let all be done, let the taunts of expectation fade from my ears.
Let this unwanted rise, against my will, finally cease.

But I did not heed that counsel.
Life is but motion.

Today, as the mountain’s crown lies within my sight,
I grant my body no quarter, begging for the last surge of strength to push forward, bound by a quiet vow.
When my turn arrives, I shall not forget to ask my very blood if it truly yearns to ascend the mountain of another’s hopes.