Skip to the content
- I watched one day two scenes unfold before my very eyes,
- Contrasting views of the same dream—one truth, one soothing lies.
- The first saw hordes of people stroll along a narrow path.
- Within their cliques, they held the rail, engaged in lovely chat.
- They reached the end and ate some fruit, and licked their lips right clean.
- Their bottled hair, their plastic lips, all effort left unseen.
- The other showed a harsher view that one would never choose,
- For it was dark, and tough, and hard, with scar, and sprain, and bruise.
- There was no garden stroll this time, replaced by mountain crag.
- Each step unsound, each grasp unsure, so many slips and snags.
- Each climber clung fast to the rail, afraid of death below,
- And pulled with all exhausted might—the journey wrought and slow.
- With sweated brow, and knuckles raw, and shoulders drooped in pain,
- The climber inches forward more and up each day again.
Support independent journalism