The Climb

The Climb

The Climb

By Avlen L’rae

I stood at the foot of the mount.

“I cannot climb it,” said I.

So I fell to my knees to beg and plead

to the One who stares down from the sky.

 

“Raise me up!” I cried, “to the top of the mount,

that I might be already there.

For if I sit atop the mount,

how I got there what matters or cares?”

 

So He raised me up quickly, from bottom to top,

from low to high was I;

and as I was about to enjoy the view,

I heard a voice below cry:

 

“Hi-de-ho up there!” said a climber below,

“I’m a bit stuck, you see.

Could you tell me where my next foothold is

or where to raise my knee?”

 

But help I could not,

for I had not made the climb;

I could not give direction

or help be his guide.

 

I lie down on my chest

and reached to him below,

but our hands could not touch

and my panic did grow.

 

He made one more effort,

then started to fall . . .

I closed my eyes

as I heard him call.

 

A moment of terror!

My imagination gone wild!

Dare I open my eyes?

What would I find?

  

Slowly, hesitantly . . .

one eye, then two;

I opened to find

I was at the bottom too.

 

I stood myself up,

wiped the gravels to the ground;

the beat of my heart

the only sound.

 

“Okay,” I cried out,

“I’ll climb if I must.”

“It’s up to you,” God replied,

as my foot left the dust.

 

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Poetry

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