It may as well have been a mountain

that yawned and gaped down

at the human insect, the bravado of its species

missing from its frame

and the slight quivering in its teenage body

as the crevice seemed to melt before his eyes.

 

The rock face, one hundred

dramatic feet high,

even a thousand surely at a pinch

heard the gentle tapping and prayer like

call whispering in the bright

Welsh light, God, don’t look down,

said with same impassioned plea

of the atheist who sits tied

to the chair and gripping the hands of his wife

and friend as the plane descends

into Gatwick after the short journey

from Amsterdam.

 

The rock paid attention to the cry of the novice

and knew that the lad from a flat land

would never feel like the king of the world,

just the clown of his company,

once he reached the top and looked out

beyond the horizon and decided to ease

his troubled soul,

whispering unheard, Don’t look down

young man, for in this moment

you will never repeat this feat,

treat it like your Everest

and breathe deeply,

let the spiny sharp rocks guide you

and take your hand

and when you reach

the very top

and see what I see everyday

as I sit here

motionless,

cry out, be brave

for fortune never comes easy

and like love,

my view only appears like a shrouded gift

once in a lifetime.  

 

Ian D. Hall 2015