Those two boots

You left behind

Haven’t moved

Since you departed.

They rest

In the shape of your

Worn soles

In a field of skeletal, indolent grass.

The wood comprising

That ladder

Still lives, singing as you ascended,

But grunting under your weight.

It was long since

A man had mounted

Its rungs.

The pressure was hardly recognizable.

It teases your boots,

Dangling just out of reach,

At the edge of fingertips,

Or the length of a bootlace.

What was it like,

Climbing so high

That you didn’t feel a part of

The world below?

What did you leave behind,

You small, frightened

Man?

Debt? Arguments? Hatred?

What were you expecting

Atop a ladder of infinite

Steps?

Money? Answers? Love?

Well the fact is, you selfish

Man,

You’ve abandoned us

In a world inadequate for you.

You can’t climb back down.

We won’t see your face.

You will have to suffice with watching us,

And living with cold feet.