Only upwards and ever slightly forwards
we stride, but my knees creak
on every step, my body thrusts
and my arms wobble,
climbing still to this beginning peak.
I know not of what lies
beyond the door at the top,
oaken and thick with varnish,
but I must enter upon ascension.
Behind slab of wood lies…
Oh what can greet such
a traveller?
I cast glances over shoulder,
my steps this plodding pattern,
others trail behind but none
ahead, I shall be first.
I will pioneer,
though only forward we toil,
so they will only know
upon imitation.