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The Mountain
On the side of a mountain, very high,
A man is climbing, the peak draws nigh,
His breathing is labored, and his limbs tense,
He grows weary of his frightful suspense,
The mountain appears to never end,
He is too far up to quit and descend,
He continues climbing the steep slope,
In the mountainâs shadow he still has hope,
The man keeps climbing; itâs all heâs ever known,
The side of the mountain, cold and alone,
He only knows he has to reach the peak,
Even though he is tired and weak,
The sun now shining upon his back,
His only friend will combat the black,
And save him from the miserable cold,
And light his path way, grown so old,
The man reaches the peak of his ascent,
He stands up to feel the warmth the sun sent,
Just as he breathes in the fresh, cold air,
The howling wind rushes wildly through his hair,
Through his body runs a shattering quake,
The mountain suddenly begins to break,
The crag below dropping from the sky,
Over his head, dust begins to fly,
He cannot keep his grip on the rock wall,
The man has no other choice but to fall,
Mountain and main drop from the sky,
The jagged ground below draws nigh,
The man asks himself why he had to climb,
He never knew the entire time,
The man hits the ground and shatters every bone,
The man exhales and dies, cold and alone.

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