When I remember

When I remember young boys climbing trees,
Their faces set in fixed determination.
For the base was the hardest hurdle climbed.
Some never made it, rooted to the spot.
Always looking up, fearful of the fall.
Some stopped on lower boughs and would not climb
Any higher; and happy with themselves,
Fell back again, returned to solid ground.
Few made it to the top, for fear they’d fall
Had robbed them of the chance to fill their cup,
You see them clinging, swaying in the wind,
Until they find themselves slowly falling
Back, weary of the climb return to base.
The few that learned to climb and keep their poise,
And ride the branches as a floating sea,
Found themselves high above the common noise,
To take the spoils of everything they see.
Sometimes I dream of going back again,
To find my way within the pathless trees,
And feel the splinters stab against the skin.
I feel myself climbing the very tips,
Where the great tree struggles to bear with me,
Dipping itself as if to shed my load.
It will not let me fall but sets me down.
I am weary of the constant climbing,
The treacherous steps and fear of falling.

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