The Towerless

Climb, Climb, to the top

for the Tower
was all that existed.
it was said
look never down,
yet always we did,
for pitiful
were all those below us.

Climb, Climb, oh unworthy

for on the inside,
they ascend with ease.
but we on the out,
must scale its wall
though endless in height,
it may be.

Climb, Climb, do the foolish

for of the hardest
and brittlest stone,
was that mighty behemoth
composed
always cutting our hands
and spiting our faces.
that ever-firmness
our gifted chains.

Climb, Climb, do the hopeful

so close to the top
we must be,
now that the hands
of the chosen
are waving each day,
yet noted with distance
how unlike we are,
for our’s are so
calloused in pain.

Climb, Climb, do the blind

as the seeming last stretch
peeks from fog
every grasp to the top
feeling monstrous in weight,
yet ever becoming no nearer.

Climb, Climb, do the deaf

as the top looms close,
just moments away.
while the sound of a whisper
grows to roar
and the concrete
simply turns into ash…

Grasp, Grasp, do the dumb!

as our breath
is at once robbed away.
the illusion of shadows
so starkly revealed,
and with the perspire of crimson,
all wasted and done…

fall, fall, do the woken.

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