If I don’t make it back alive, at least I laced my boots and I got out.
I may have not quite paved the way, but I’ve walked the road and mapped the route.
My name may not be recognised, my story, not regaled,
but, I hope those who remember me, can recount a honest tale,
Those who’ve made me feel hard to be loved, are let go, dispersed, as pollen in the breeze.
From barren earth, a forest grows, now to walk among the trees.
To ask untold questions, into the silence, why is there sadness in a budding rose?
To know it will be gone tomorrow, lingers in my resting woes.
Why do we have the urge to climb to mountain peaks, where there’s nothing to be found?
To continue to ask the questions, why, when we can stay down on the ground?
We all have our own hurdles, set in our mind by human nature.
In my head, there’s 8,000 foot mountains to be climbed, where hope crumbles like paper.
To get lost on this mountain, body be entombed within the snow.
Lie inside my head for eternity, stuck behind eyes which no longer glow.
Still beneath the dying stars, that disappear without a sound.
King of my own destiny, never to be crowned.
Suffocating from this altitude, where the oxygen is thin.
High above the clouds, life ends, before it can begin.
I want to breath again, I want to live,
Understand, which parts of me to hold back, which parts of me to give,
I want to learn to accept, that which cannot be defined,
To attempt the treacherous descent, from the north face of my mind.
Original poem by © Darius the Mate
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