I have fought many uphill battles of my own. I never win them, I just keep myself from losing.
But when I climb mountains with you, the slopes are gentle. The walk is easy, despite what people (I) told me, save for a couple of rough patches (though a couple of strong souls will let you step on rocks without feeling them as you keep walking). Deceptively easy, I sometimes think.
Now we have another mountain, a very large, intimidating one. We tell each other it won't be so bad.
But I think we've gotten too lucky with the last few we've climbed. I think this one might finally be the one that beats me.
And when I look at you, sometimes I think you feel as though it may beat you too.
YOU ARE READING
Poem and Prose Scraps (That Don't Quite Fit Elsewhere)
PoetryJust pieces that didn't quite fit in any of my other books that I don't feel are significant enough to require their own book. This will probably contain a lot of edgy stuff, so... brace yourself and enter at your own risk, I suppose.
