Days are hard at the age
of coming up to manhood,
but not quite over the ridge.
Weary boys, wearing clothing far too big
trying to carry loads their fathers couldn’t carry
because they mostly slept
and didn’t express feelings
other than the occasional spark of rage.
So the boys determine to stay awake
and bring change, if it takes all their strength
for they’ve seen better things
on the other sides of mountains
and want to carry their children across the chasm
where they had to walk alone.
but no o ease in the climbing,
in those last, jutting years of cold
coming up to fill the spaces of men
that were absent from the home
when most others simply needed them
to point towards the next path.
and I wish I could skip this step;
just pass over the edges
and grow up to fill the spaces
that have been so long lacking
in myself and other men
but in days hard, at the crest of the ridges
there’s no way to return.
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