Up

In the morning fog you can barely see the stairs,
or where they go, what lies ahead.

Vines reach out, green and vibrant,
some of them covering the brick,
as if they wish to hide the path altogether.

All you see is this step and the next.
Everything else is promise or peril.

Your eyes linger. You see the mortar,
cracked and rotting.
You see the ivy,
luxurious and murderous.
You feel the cold dampness
crawling under your skin.

And you know

You cannot stay here.
There are things to see
that you will never see here
You step
up.

About this poem

Many of us never move forward until where we are becomes unbearable. Others of us journey more in wonderment, simply to see what is next if we….

Neither is right. Neither is wrong. Both are an adventure. And life is about adventures.

Tom