CREVICES

To stroll with eyes towards the sky
and never look where feet must step
will miss the snare of fissures in the path,
where light never touches and fear is master.


It is where the climate is thick and suffocating,
in the black void eyes can’t find an escape,
mind erodes of its vision,
life bleeds of its paradise passions.


Survival is the oxygen of the spirit,
easy to deplete when air seems infused
with stench of morgue
embedded in the darkness corners of the abyss.


Yet, after the panic seizure,
beyond fighting the spiders of paranoia,
one learns in the crippling ebony chamber
residing within the head,
stamina serves in that destitute essence
as proof
of how much iron there is in the soul.

Discovered in the deepest moments of questioning
is the strength that sleeps within,
telling the heart how hard it can beat
while ascending the slopes of possibilities.

So when the night crawls on the inside
leaving one dreading the gaps in sight,
truth shines in the groping confusion
letting it be the guide
to how far one can truly climb.