The Hill (Inspired by Becky)

What is it about this bugger of a hill? 

Yet I climb it still. 

I could turn around, 

And return to zero ground. 

All around me are slopes, 

Without dangling ropes. 

The odd rope frayed, 

Slow work, I’m delayed. 

I can see the peak, 

Of which I seek. 

The path is so unsure, 

I climb some more. 

Another climber ahead, 

He knows he is in my stead. 

The jagged hostility, 

Distances us by ability. 

Disappears like the one before, 

I am alone once more, 

Embittered by bruises and abrasions, 

Tumbling on occasions. 

Yet, with every injury, 

There is something within me. 

Which is determined to reach the top, 

A voice says, “don’t stop”.  

There are people flying to the peak, 

Of which I seek, 

At speeds that I envy, 

I’m in a frenzy. 

“You crazy fool!” 

The voice can be so cruel. 

“Look at them go!” 

“You’re so slow”. 

But this isolation, 

Is of some divine creation, 

For there is something in the task, 

Of which the soul doth ask. 

The pain, the anguish, 

Days of languish. 

But I continue this madness! 

With bliss, love and sadness. 

And something in me knows, 

Something in me grows, 

A gratitude for the moment,  

Overcoming each ‘opponent’. 

I was given a time, 

To complete this climb, 

I was told what to acquire, 

But I allowed all to transpire. 

My shoes are worn, 

All clothes are torn, 

I arrive rumbled, 

But I am gladly, humbled. 

I will never forget, 

The people I met, 

The scenes I observed,  

The moments I was unnerved. 

My descension has wings, 

The soul sings. 

This song will go with me, 

It is my destiny. 

Hilltop to vale, 

Plateau to dale, 

And now for my final descent, 

And I am hardly spent.