Here she stands,
Annapurna,
Mountain of Death,
Everest's evil sister,
killer of men,
temptress of fools,
with yet another fool
on which to feed.
I have no one,
my life is just my own
to spend as I see fit
and I have spent it
in the hope of glory
or glorious demise.
Solo have I lived
and solo I have climbed,
beyond the bonds of
simple life and reason.
The air is like a drink
of watery tea,
unsatisfying and bitter.
My lungs thirst,
punctured by the cold
of a thousand tiny daggers.
My muscles quiver,
weak beyond belief.
And all around me,
white,
a thousand shades
of blinding brightness.
Oh, joyous pain,
I am alive!
I am so near to heaven's crest,
a crawl away,
five miles above the skin of earth
and here I know it ends.
Like a tortoise in the sand
I inch upwards.
Minutes become hours
and my breath in clouds,
like a locomotive,
chugs furiously,
ready to explode.
Oh, joyous pain,
I am alive!
I collapse upon the summit now
and stare across the lesser peaks
that look up at me in envy.
I am no longer cold,
my arms no longer ache.
Solo have I lived
and solo I have climbed.
It is all worth it now,
as pain retreats
and sleepiness invades.
The sun sets
and the stars
are close enough to touch.
The universe sings to me
as my eyes close
and I prepare to dream.
Good night, world.
BINABASA MO ANG
A Mind's Eye
PoetryA collection of poems grown from myth and mind. Gods, monsters, and mortal men in a variety of poetic forms. Narratives and allegories as deeply rooted in the psyches of modern humanity, as in the civilizations that planted those seeds. Songs from d...
