It seems surmountable, though draws you
as if a test, past then now, on ground.
And upwards, taking time,
alone or with others,
the ground below recedes,
a higher view, comes onto
scene and later, however high,
you made it.
Unlike Sisyphus, whose inner thrust
was repetition joy,
you look below,
and sense a perspective seen now.
it could be Sinai, Tabor, or Ben Bulbin.
A mountain top draws clarity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem