there is a rock by the path, whose hexagonal cleavage yields perfect intent to what lies ahead, if it has come from above..
the levels so high promise better life and such nicer things and people... all that glitters will be gold.
so I climb but my feet are so tired and worn, my spirit is beat, and my ego is torn...
this level is the same, but colder in the height, but the air is now thinner, I mourn
the loss of what lies behind, I'm going under now... I am more far from the base and less close to the top somehow... my vision becomes so much worse that everything is so far... and everything near is much too near.
The silver in the path made me believe that life high and clear was so close by
nothing else mattered...
now I can jump off of the side to be where I need... or I can continue to climb, and know not what is ahead.