Trying to hold onto the paper,
but it tears and tears,
they fall.
Cages lock me in.
Every way you look, there’s
bars. I’m trapped.
Foolish to think,
I could ever be free.
Freedom is an idea,
That can’t be made real.
But we build
Build
Build.
Chip away at the edges,
Try to create the right shape
For the holes we want to fill.
Climbing stairs.
There is no elevator.
But what if there is
no top?
An endless mountain,
Ever climbing
Climbing
Climbing…
The air is thin
Up here.
I can’t breathe.
Where’s the light gone?
Does it shine?
Do I shine,
anymore?
Am I lost?
Where did I leave,
My family?
My friends?
My partner?
My dreams?
My mind?
Were they left
Behind?
Who reaches the top
of the mountain
but an empty shell?
A vessel of anguish?
A ghost of a person?
A lonely loner all alone?
I remember that
I must remember:
When crafting a life,
You must use the right tools.
A potion of success,
An elixir of life,
Can only be acquired with:
Laughter
Memories
Love
Friendship
Trust
Time
Kindness
Gratitude
Patience
Wholeness
Passion
Help
Pace
Truth
And,
Perhaps,
A lot of youness.
A complete, perfect, package,
Tied with a pretty bow.
The prettiest of bows,
One of scars
and stretch marks
and sores.
Then, and only then,
Will the life you craft,
Be worth living.
S. R. Crawford 