Adrift

Is the wall to scale?

Perhaps I can climb it.

It sways, but furthermore

it plays games.

When one step is at its nearest it only seems to find a way to reach a new level.

I’ll just stay hanging...

It’s quite comfortable here,

I enjoy the voices that talk of me underneath my fellow feet.

Still the bellows from the peak

blow down in strange

streaks.

Do you even care where you end up?

Do you even know where you’re going?

I’d say yes, but I’d only be lying to myself,

and if that’s what I wanted,

I wouldn’t be here hanging in sadness.

The Arctic sheets are ever active,

the snow drifts across the plain blue blood; the ocean.

It is opaque, at times I fear that I may never reach any depth.

I’ll remain in this tent.

The tumultuous invisible barrier engulfs this hidden isle on the side of

a lonesome palace.

Here I remain without a trace to be followed,

I am unknown,

but overall-or more suiting-

above it all I have ran away from what was a splendid opportunity,

and I left it for what I thought was better.

It seems I rather frown,

and be here without renown.

It seems I’m a coward,

I’ll flee from my very own scourge,

I’ll lie myself into a state of relief; I promise it’ll be brief.

What leaves me with one eye open is the fact that I’ll never rise above this hidden position,

that I’ll drop further and further until my ultimate crash with nature herself,

I’m not sure what fate has stored for me in this icebox.

I guess in this hail

my vision is pale,

my disposition

tales;

in this drift I

fail.