Oxygen

I lived on a mountain in my head,
a chalet shaped by the timbers of thoughts,
dwelling there before
actually ascending the slopes of challenge.

Thinking someday I need pure oxygen
from a tank and sucked through a mask
when residing where a summit kisses the sky,
air so thin you couldn’t survive without help
far above the valleys thick in thickets and stones.

Visions of gasping to inhale I kept in my mind
practicing using a breathing aid
as inspiration to find the trail
providing escape from the smog
and those stale scents of stagnant subsistence.

Never did find that path
just kept on exhaling out of practice
not taking time to rise or attempt to see
beyond the bushes growing over my life.

Watching others who were doing the same
we all pretended our breathing exercises
were affirmations of being vital.

Yet, when the wind would blow
and we detected the scents
of those would had sweated their passions,
it stirred the truth that we didn’t want to remember
about how using our lungs
did not fill the emptiness in our hearts.