Stormy-Peaked Climb

I was nearing the end of youth's stormy-peaked climb

To the new adult's firm grasp on nearing his prime,

Climbing crosswise, growing streetwise, but not too wise

To consider not having the time of my life,

and though I won't call it a moment of glory,

I miss some of the people and tell all the stories.

There was nothing could stop me – no news, tests or walls.

I was priming my prime, and was prime for a fall.

Now I'm back on the climb, four years on the way up,

So fully I fear I'll run over my cup

and run back down the side, wet with mem'ries of floating.

Hist'ry's repeats won't catch me with hands red from hoping.