Crisis Forming
From the soft cushiony life
of pleasant thoughts and dreams,
of life laying out on a silver platter,
of riches settling in the palate
with it’s sweet breath
permeating the quiet air around,
unprepared for the danger lurking,
hearing it’s horns blasting,
digging into the skin,
it’s tentacles grabbing a hold and
taking us up to the graveyard
on top of the hill,
the home of all dreamers,
where all hopes are dashed
and “In Memory of the Fearful”
engraved on the tombstones,
is a place reserved for the
prey of the climbing crises.
But climbers beware
for the leveling off of the climb
as the weary plague loses its grip
from its laborious ascension,
it’s feet swelling and muscles aching,
it’s evil still in it’s eyes,
but it’s influence lessened
as it nears the top
and gone away at the summit.
Alas, ’tis the sighting of the
other side of the hill,
the glorious meadows down below,
the smiling daffodils
and dancing streams,
the ride down a rejuvenation
of all hope, a new spirit in the soul,
a forever jubilation in the heart,
and the end of the course of the crisis.
Hallelujah!!!
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