Hunger

Step by step, steeper and steeper, it converges and leaves me unguarded, with nothing to lean on. As I climb I'm conscious that it is not a path leading to choice. Though it is not imprisonment. It is a newly born river that grows stronger as it gains more speed and penetrates the land through the tiniest almost invisible breaches. And as I climb I'm made more and more aware of the power it holds over me. The adrenaline reaches levels never dreamt of. If I stop to look, frightful sight, there's only abyss surrounding. My own feet stand on thin air. And yet I know the steps are there so I take each one, hopeful, no, sure that it won't be my fall. Well not now. I expect it, yes, I know of this liability just as I know I must not fear death for it shall come in it's due time. And if my feet do not meet solid ground at some point on this fiery journey, I shall embrace my fall. And there may be times when I will condemn it all and have no reserves in damning all souls that creep in to look at my splattered life in the depths of the great abyss. But if I climb, it is only because of it's existence. Of the tragedy of life. Of the tragedy of love. The thin thread. The walk of faith. The running naked towards the sun, marveled by the light and the ever present possibility of, at any point in that great exploding barefoot extra sensory flight, bursting into flames and cease to be. And the irony laughs loud and clear inside. The fall brings truth to the flight. Truth that, amidst tears, blood and guts spilled, gives me certainty of greatness. Glorious glorious life.