It is Like...

It is like
a rope to the top,
I watch from the foot,
And for a long while
tell myself i cannot make this climb.

Then suddenly, i feel
the roughness of the rope
and up and up i climb
my eyes so fixed on the drawing pinnacle.
As i am nearing
i slip from all the grime
bruised and scathed
spirit broken
as i find myself falling
not for the first time.

And then
It is like
assembling a puzzle
piece by piece, little by little.

The picture perfect comes to sight
with all but the last piece
left to fit
yet that is precisely when i discover
that the piece i cannot find
and thus gone is the blood shed
gone is the time.

And then
It is like
building a house
i dig the deepest of foundations
i lay with great patience each brick
to fashion the house i deem is mine.
the walls are painted
the colours divine
the doors affixed
the windows tinted.

And that is when the cruel wind
decides to blow it down
and to hell with the foundations
to hell each minute of patience.

It is like...
I don't anymore know what it is like.
All i know is i am it
and humiliation is mine.
How do i begin again the climb,
How do i find another piece
in this lifetime
How do i build a house
which i can call mine?


And I ask you today,
Why me,
Why is this mine alone to bear
Why this of all strife?
Why why why?


Have you ever made the mistake of falling and rolling in mud, then washed yourself clean only to fall into another mud pit? How many times can one fall and how many times til he stops climbing up to his feet and walk on?