The mountain top is too high to climb
The only pilot that could fly over and hoover
And safely touch ground with no ado or murmur, Is an eagle with wingspan
Three times longer than its body distance
From head to tail.
It is a treacherous and anfractious escarpment,
Warped with maelstrom currents.
And I am no eagle with precision eye sight
And landing gear to manoeuvre.
Surmount I will
Only time reveals.
From where I stood feet tight,
on an edge of a cliff’s armseye,
aeries everywhere in full sight,
Raptorial anxious fledgling chicks to shield.
That not being the only threat,
I can’t stay for long equipoised
The ground below swerves and moves,
Discombobulated,
Driving me down to Plummet.
Either I have is to climb down the precipice
But down the droke, I see piles of corpses,
Reposed.
Whatever resources I am left with
I must summon to utilise
Meagre though it might be to gain pride
Walking on a knife-edge,
I must try,
what a choice!
survive or die.
Challenge the TREACHEROUS Wynd
Life in suspension is not a way out,
I have tried it but it bears no fruit,
Come what destiny awaits
It can not be worse than Ancoberian brute
That has kept me trampled under foot.
Surmount I will
Only times reveals.
I cannot for sure tell,
But I need to break my fear,
tackle the mountain slope
to stand at the top
Come hell or high water.
Slave masters
Have no hearts to empathise
Nor do they have ears to listen
You might ask,
Why do I want to climb the mountain?
Well, it is to regain my freedom
As the mountain is on the way,
Blocking the momentum.
If I can’t bust, pulverised to dust,
I must navigate its intricate crust.
Likewise if I stood at the top
The slave master chase would stop
For if he were to try to climb
His paunch would definitely pop.
Belay Ambelay