CLIFF OF LIFE

To the ones who say in serious tone
That life mimics pleasant trip,
A peaceful walk down a path alone,
Where, when thirsty, angels give a sip
Of their ambrosia; until the final end,
To them I would enjoy to speak the truth,
The real way that life leaves one to fend
And on failure leaves one to their sooth.

Life is no trek, no pleasant joy,
But is a climb up cliff so very high,
In hands of life one is but a toy,
A cliff where every handhold could be a lie.
One cannot simply walk down life with ease,
One must climb with agression if to reach the top,
The peak that we all strive for, what a tease!
Yet stakes are high, as the great drop.

To seal the madness, not all start the same,
Some start up priveleged, higher than the masse,
And yet, they crash and burn, poisoned by privelege and fame.
Some rise from bottom but to pass
The fools who know not where they are headed.
While others will not even wish to give a slight attempt,
And stay at where they start, and slowly sink as if leaded
By great burdens and so themselves foolishly excempt.

The higher one climbs the more one's faced by choice,
To climb yet higher, or perhaps to give some aid
To those below who beg in feeble voice.
And when one chooses choice of former, one where interests bid
In merely climbing one must not look below,
For that may just cause fear at distance one can fall,
And in this case, the aid denied to lower fellow
Will leave no aid from them, no helping hand at all.