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| The stairs continue up to the sky, |
| and I rest on the landings briefly, |
| but I can't wait too long. |
| I need to reach the top, but my feet |
| get tired and I slip and fall. |
| My knees are bruised and hurt. |
| The metal clang of the sound of |
| the leather striking the metal |
| rings in my ears with each step. |
| I can't go down the stairs, even if |
| I wanted to, because each stairstep |
| conquered disappears into memory |
| when my last foot leaves the plane. |
| I remain suspended in the light with |
| the option to succeed or fall into the |
| dark void below with the others who |
| have failed. I hear them call me. |
| Their voices get louder, almost as loud |
| as the sound of my heavy steps. |
| It would be so easy to let loose of my |
| grip on the handrail, and the next fall |
| would be my last. |
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