Tripped

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Tripped
From beneath the sun
I rise
the faces of those beneath me
growing smaller
as I ascend
I take a breath;
the air is sweet within the clouds
but it’s not enough.
Groping for power—
something to anchor me—
I march on


And still I rise
No looking back—but I turn my head
smiling as I break away
from the desperate pleas
and expressionless stares
first with murmurs of admiration
turn numb with despair
as I watch them crack

Yet I rise
rise until my fingertips
almost
brush the rays of sunlight
The warm air beings
to burn with contempt
suddenly turning away
my sweet victory

I fight to keep my place—
but I slip and it grows colder
the fog harshly surrounding
what was once
my perfect kingdom
I feel myself falling
plummeting
…collapsing

The cries of triumph
are louder now
than ever before
Yet just as I begin
to rise again
it’s dark
and Silent
and Still
and Finished.





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