The wall rises like a question asked in stone,
Each bolt a promise hammered into place.
I climb the line my forearms have been shown.
Below, the rope hums softly, taut and known,
Above, the next quickdraw waits for grace.
The wall rises like a question asked in stone.
Chalk ghosts my hands, my breathing overthrown,
Feet search for truth on nothing but a face.
I climb the line my forearms have been shown.
Muscle debates with fear I’ve always owned,
A fall rehearsed, yet trust becomes the case.
The wall rises like a question asked in stone.
Mid-route, the crowd dissolves, the world narrows alone
To hips, to balance, to efficient space.
I climb the line my forearms have been shown.
At anchors, shaking, joy and ache are sewn—
A final clip, the ground a distant place.
The wall rises like a question asked in stone.
I climb the line my forearms have been shown.
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Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: July 8th, 2026 08:00
- Comment from author about the poem: Sport climbing is a variation of rock climbing in which the lead climber clips their rope—via a quickdraw—into pre-drilled in-situ bolts on the rockface for their protection as they ascend the route. For more context visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sport_climbing
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: Sports Poetry.
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Comments2
A lovely write Matthew of a sport but does it not also apply to life itself and its challenges. Love the style and the rhyme. Nicely done my friend
Matthew, what a strong piece. I love how the climb never feels like it's only about reaching the top...it becomes a journey through fear, trust, and focus. That line about muscle debating fear is outstanding, and the closing leaves such a satisfying sense of hard-earned joy. Really enjoyed this one, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️
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