The Summit Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

They ascend the treacherous snow slope
towards the distant peak, roped to one
another in dreams and hope.
Against the glare of sloping sun

small as black flies on sugar mounds
they toil towards the summits
of themselves, gasping, rasping sounds
tearing at lungs: no one submits.

They know, from mountains they
have climbed before in frozen wind and ice,
the dream revives in the lurch and sway
and swing over fathomless

crevices, not in the frail flag flown
from the lonely peak, all purpose gone:
looking down on those still clinging to stone,
the summit elusive, the dream not undone.