Anchor
Muscles straining upward,
their sinewy strings stretch beyond
comparison. They continue.
Moving slowly aloft
towards their unattainable goal, to put two hands
on the top.
The strain reach the moment of extreme tension.
Crackles and pops as the human body
is forced into exertion. Then euphoria.
Higher and higher in a never ending ballet
of energy and rapture.
Hanging only by a multi-colored thread,
over a crevice of upturned face
each glistening with fresh dew.
Vampire Weekend droning in the background.
What terrible music to empower.
Hands keep on pulling upwards
toward that common goal we all have.
Placement of feet is nonchalant,
no many notice their location on this as the objective
is a hare's breath away.
Deep down in the bowels of determination
a satisfied grunt resonates in the cavernous space
and cheers from below announce
Savior.
The pitiful harmony minute
past the glass doors.
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