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A poetry Web site
worth reading.
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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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This Web site is copyrighted 1998-2003 by Michael Hall

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