Thursday, 31 January 2013

Weary climber

Der Chasseur im Walde
Caspar David Friedrich

On a steep mountain slope, 
Lone climber struggles to the peak
He's holding to his rope, 
But his grip begins to creak.

Strained by its barbed rock
Worn by whips and scorns
His rope now nothing but a stalk 
that’s bearing piercing thorns.

Lost and without hope
To conquer this perilous wall
He’s ready to uncoil his rope
And let the abyss take control.

It never was his intention
To leave this world like this
But if this means redemption,
Temptation is too hard to resist. 

His life shall be forgotten
His name ceasing to exist
His flesh and bones rotten
Soul dissolved in the mist.

He takes his final breath
Slowly unclenching both fists
But doubting this precipitous death
Does not cease to persist.

He looks up to the stars—
Why not climb out of this deadly pit?
Though he might not move very far
He might move at least a bit.

How much work it took,
Those that are already gone?
How would the world look
If they too, chose not to carry on?