The Poem

“Up That Mountain”

Daniel Christensen

Cinnamon Roll Enthusiast, Idaho

17 July 2017

I chose to go up the mountain, I could have chosen no. I was safe down below where the pines and aspens grow. The winds blow cool air down there where the bear and deer roam.

There’s stability there and my ability was fit merely for civility, not for agility or nobility. Days on the plains were plain as could be, my mobility was stifled, and became the main bane for me.

Out of the plains and into the desert, my head hung low. A time of darkness and sorrow began to show, the pains of monotony began to hurt. But a quick spurt and my feet hit the dirt. Running away seemed the only path to go.

Moving thru the forests I grew to love the morning dew, the beautiful view, but something still was missing, I wanted something new. A new adventure to pursue, where I was on top, where the sky wasn’t gray, but blue.

Then I saw it in all its glory, the mountain. A story began to unfold in the recesses of my mind, I stretched my ear to hear it told. And behold, it was a tale yet to take place on a trail to an uncharted space. Racing to the trailhead I looked back, unsure of my place. Should I continue to possible danger and stumbling or turn to face a life of grumbling? Mumbling to myself, it all became like a crystal, clear in my mind and signed in my heart. A pledge to finish what I start, not just climbing hard, but climbing smart.

Up I went to that fierce, towering giant, the hail pierced my eyes and I could hear the cries of others who were heading back down. Their eyes were dazed and their mouths formed a frown, to them, trekking just wasn’t worth the crown. Jewels await for those that persevere, those that replace their doubt and fear. Foes are on every slope, ready to push you down or take away your rope. But it’s times like these when you pray hard and hope.

So upward I go, inching to the summit and at times sliding down below. The snow is cold I’m told, though the icy peaks dance with a shiny glow. The strength in my legs weaken, though back there I’ll never go. Onward to the prize I must realize that each day might be a low of lows or the high of highs.

The journey continues, it isn’t adjourned just yet, my mind cries out there’s still strength within you! through tears and sweat.

The mountain is my enemy, my friend, my life goal. Rocky ridges and widening chasms stab me deep to the soul. My spirit tries to reason with my muscles, keep on, or it will swallow you whole!

The peak comes into view, my cheeks are puffy red, huffing along my way I know I must be close to dead. My nose has froze as the wild wind blows, tearing through my clothes. Like a stabbing knife my toes are swollen and black, that’s when I shed my pack.

At a glance, chances are good that I don’t make it without something drastic. I tear into the drifts and the rifts like a pro gymnastic. Sprinting to the outcrop I stumble and flop, crawling, grasping, reaching, clawing to the top.

Instantly the sun shines through, the hail storm in my mind fades away and the night quickly becomes day. I had made it, I made it, I finally made it. There might not be a fancy firework show with candles, mortars and a fountain. But through it all, I had the gall and the wherewithal, to go up that mountain.

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