I am on the verge of leaping off the edge at times
from the mountain I feel I have struggled to climb these last few years.
As I look for a purpose, something meaningful,
something that will make my mother and father proud of me.
Most importantly, proud of myself,
I find myself yearning and trying too hard in countless attempts.
of finding my highest peak.
My own Mount Everest, if you will.
I can see the clouds in the distance of raging storms,
and hesitate to continue pushing through.
At the sight of those storms, only then do I realize,
as I trek through the current drizzle of rain from the gloom overhead,
that I am nowhere near my highest peak.
I am at the bottom.
I notice the enticing lukewarm droplets are comforting,
as if to say, "Here is the first touch of what is to come". Almost inspiring,
As if these droplets say that I am only beginning my journey.
I am nowhere near my Everest. I am simply at the beginning of my climb.
I have quite a way to go, but my journey has started, nonetheless.
I am given a light warning of what is to come.
Although comforted, I remain hesitant as I am no fan of the rain,
Yet I am enlightened of the gentle, Heads Up, that these droplets whisper as they land on my shoulders.
I take my first few steps and begin my journey.
I am nowhere near my peak, but at least I have started.
Only then am I able to realize that the droplets pick up their pace as I do,
reminding me of the progress I make. As I pick up my pace, so do they.
I am nowhere near my peak. At least I have started my journey.
As the clouds and rain pick up their pace in response to doing so myself,
as if to cheer me on like no other person has,
I am able to find comfort in my climb. They move with me. I am not alone.
I am simply a part of this storm that accumulates as my determination does in turn.
I am a part of this world. I am a part of this mountain.
Once I reach its peak, it becomes mine.
Only then, will I be able to look down at the path I have made for myself,
and guide clouds in the direction of others following my trail,
letting them know, that they are not alone as well.
YOU ARE READING
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PoetryUnfinished poem. Everything is a work in progress. Nothing is finished until we are able to stand still in the moment of accomplishing our hardest task, and looking back at how far we came. (Unfinished/Untitled Work in Progress).