With the death of day, the night is born

Just as one door closes, another opens

One has to fall for me to climb the ladder of success

We survey our options: To be one who climbs,

To be one who falls, or to become a stepping stone

My focused eyes cannot see anywhere but up

 

But guilt overcomes me as I travel up,

Fore I must cause death each time I am born

My face hardens, dense as stone

As I battle skyward, my wounds are opened

I’m stitched and unstitched each step I climb

How are these sins defined as success?   

 

I ponder whether or not I want success

My eyes travel down, then back up

I see where I have climbed, and where I should climb

But my conscience pleads I do not ascend, shame is born

In me, as each threaded stitch undoes and opens

I elect to evolve into a stepping stone

 

But can I reach my dreams as a mere stone?

Can I find happiness in helping others succeed?

In such melancholy no doors open

I do not progress or digress, I do not move up

Instead, I’m a midwife to newborn

Dreams, my cemented body watches as others climb

 

I do not find satisfaction in the climb

Fore I do not have a destination, just a stone

Stone face, stone step, unfit to carry hopes born

To children determined to find success

They’re taught to use people to make their way up

They may not succeed ‘til their minds are opened

 

With this, the loving heart is opened

Revealed to be above those who climb

Fore heart is the heavens up-

Above each step, each stepping stone,

In heaven there is no success

With the death of night, new days are born

 

We may travel up and doors may open,

But wishes are not born to those who climb

Rather, it is the helpful stones that reach success