In the distance is the mountain,
its top concealed in clouds.

With wings clipped
never can I fly,
so rest on my sorrows
wonder why, wait to die.

Out of sight, out of sense.
Out of mind, out of march.

Climb the mountain,
reach the sky, paint the clouds,
give this day its due,
faltering aloud.

In rise, how high will I climb?
How far will I fall to get there?

Will I learn to live
with no one teaching me,
making too many mistakes
that shouldn’t be made?

Learn to stroll, enjoy to full
tragic curses blessed upon me.

Walking a narrow path,
tempted at every straight,
I want to soar above the mountain,
be amongst the clouds.

Safe from all that wanders,
safe from all that stalks.

But soar I cannot
with wings clipped,
the mountain a wish,
clouds only a dream.

How do I get there?
How do I find the way?

For now, I can build myself
up to the sky and be
the mountaintop, allowing
clouds to play amongst me.

In the distance what I see,
the mountaintop is me.


2 thoughts on “Clipped

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