Acrophobia Poem by Bryan Taplits

As one grows up, one climbs a hill-
Another hill to climb,
Then, as middle-age is reached-and nearly breached-
One chews over one's juicy passed times.
The air still refreshes and is gladly gulped
It's swallowed like a meal,
But time follows thru- as you hearken to-
And mount towards the summit of your final appeal.
Unable you are to grasp any more ledges
Clutched instead is a mounting fear,
For on the perches below-you've never before noticed this foe-
Old Age is climbing with you.
You cross to the overhanging slope, it's like a hanging rope,
A symbol of redemptive or lagging hope,
To greet your unknowable fear-(for the rope now has wear) -
And it‘s all downhill from here.