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Out of the Plain

I sit in my lawn chair on this empty plain;
I came to watch the sun of today set,
and the sun of tomorrow rise.
I have a long journey before me.
The mountain towers before me,
even as we're miles away.
My soul yearns to be at the top,
without taking the journey.
The mountain is blocking my view, so I must go.
I wish I were born on the mountain peak,
instead of on this plain.
I yawn and I sigh already exhausted,
already worn out.
I stretch, pick myself up, and fold up my chair.
I have to adjust my sunglasses back on my shirt.
I guess I have to wait a little bit longer.
I arrive at the mountain, and now I can see it even more close up.
It's treacherous, even more than I believed.
I start to climb, but each time I'm where I started.
This isn't a one person climb, that's the issue.
I must call upon others to help me on this journey.
They all live ''happily' on the plain.
They're happily harvesting their daily potatoes.
I sigh.
Should I put up an ad, loaded with propaganda?
No, I'll make it plain.
Those who want to reach the top of the mountain will come.
There is an echo; it was a sigh.
It wasn't mine.
I looked around there was another, ready with a backpack.
Another echo, another sigh, another person.
This one with a flashlight.
Another echo, another sigh, another person.
This one with a harness.
There's an awkward silence where we're just looking at each other;
then we begin to climb.
We stop looking down at the plain.
We know it is there, it's behind us.
Will we reach the top, and finally make it out of the plain?



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