SUCCESS
Always
there were peaks pressing
against the blue bowl of the sky,
peaks to be climbed.
Always
there was the sweat, the struggle,
crawling up, slipping back,
then up, up again.
Never
quite the heights.
Now
it's come
with a wild shaking
of wind, lightning,
rumbled shocks
of stones streaking past.
Now
it appears in a form
never mirrored before -
hollow eyes, cruel lips,
crooked limbs, witch hair,
fire in its bowels.
The peaks have dissolved - dandelion seeds
scattered upon the wind.
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