A Poem From Where I Am
I stand at the foot of the mountain.
I would come here every now and then
to shout at the climbers above me,
always having to retreat down to the valley.
The valley is nice, and I have grown.
I drank at its waters,
feasted on its trees.
The ground is very level.
But more and more lately,
my legs have been itching.
My legs have been itching to find new grounding,
one that ain’t so level.
My belly is hungry to subsist on the meager berries I spy up the hill,
ones that ain’t so satisfying.
My throat is thirsting for the narrow trickle of moisture I’d have to dig for,
a trickle so hard to find.
My body longs for suffering in makeshift shelters,
caves instead of huts.
A home, but it ain’t a rest.
I’m ready for the mountain.
I have trained years for this,
and now it’s time to go.
I will miss this valley,
and how it nurtured me.
But it’s time to scale the mountain–
who know’s what I’ll see from up there?
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