Sun, 08/11/2019 - 23:47 -- elxry

The world is heavy.

We carry the weight of our futures while struggling through the present.

I push my stone up a mountain for three days.

Parking ticket.

I wake up at the bottom of the hill and push again.

Maybe I break a sweat this time.

The paper I spent two weeks on floats by.


The air feels hotter.

The mountain looks taller from the bottom this time.

An angry tear falls on my cheek.

I push again,

but I get a call from my mother.

Grandma's sick.

I roll back down the mountain with my stone.

My knees are bleeding now, but I start again.

I pay the ticket. I study harder.

I drive back home.

Though I shake and my body is bruised I push my stone again.

A shooting nearby

I push

A melted glacier

I push

He called me a n----

I push

I'm weary

I push

I push, and I fall, and I brush myself off, and I push.

It pains me to fall,

but I persist.

If I never push, I'll never see the top,

and I can only imagine the beautiful view when I make it.

The blood stains and scars won't matter when something wonderful stands before me.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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