The Summit

How do I find myself in this dark pit -
No light, no hope, no way out
Try as I might top push away
This searing band around my soul,
It drags me deeper into the pit
And holds me down with no remorse or pity
A cold, heartless, place in which to shiver
With no other choice but to resign to its
Cold iron casket enfolding the corpse of my heart.

A young boy reaches through an iron gate
For a daisy beckoning brightly in the sun.
His pudgy arms are but inches short,
His fingers curl on empty air.

After the long cold climb to reach the summit
Slogging and picking through steep cliffs
And dragging a pack through heavy drifts
The pinnacle lies but a short trek up
But blocked by rocks and overhangs too acute
To traverse. So it remains in sight yet
Unattainable, only to be made into a memory
Of what might have been.