Mark Heathcote

Gold Star - 26,737 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

Everest - Poem by Mark Heathcote

Everest—child; that’s your mountain, now go and climb its peak
It isn’t easy to get to the summit, son,
There’s much still there buried at its humble feet.
But if you will it, son, you might just accomplish, it?
And who knows, you might just find that little piece of heaven,
That soothes a man’s mind at that tender age of twenty seven.

But first, son, you’ve got to acclimatize.
Breathe easy, child! Breathe easy, son!
Breathe deep into those concave lungs and loosen-up that angry snarling sigh...
Else your heart might descend, and then your soul won’t learn to follow...
To be your bitterest rival or your only best friend:

Breathe easy, child! The skies at your feet, it’s in your shoes”
And that bridge you’ve built doesn’t lend its self to portend,
Or to cross the other side of that deadened, street; dead-end news... sheet?

Everest, is just a thorn in your thumb, son!
Suck it dry and wake up the world—if you’re footsore, child!
But just remember never to run, my greenhorn, son!
Because all them nefarious devils laughing cries can’t hurt, you!
If you still intend to shine, like an unapologetic son of mine!

But first you’ve got to acclimatize!
Before you can climb to that summit...
It isn’t easy if you’re a hermit or a limpet,
It isn’t easy if you’re easily intimidated or just partially, paralyzed...
By fear like a partridge in a pear tree,
It isn’t easy in these adopted Bad Lands my son to be free!

So breathe easy, son, every step has got to start with a helping hand...
Breathe easy, child! And that book of life, you hoped to command,
Might emanate a gleaming spring that’ll never rush you by...
And just like a rainbow trout in a remote part of a river lake
You’ll discover where... how... and the why... of the way...
And how to die a son a father a child and a man, Jake!
With glittering wings you can aspire to learn the truth, behind
The wind; just like them leafs on a winter crisp breeze.
Just like those leaves on the mountain side
That cradle on the wind up so high
You stand on the North face, whilst I still chide and pretend not to cry.

Everest—child, that’s your mountain, now go and climb! Its thunderous peak
And make peace with your broken heart
It isn’t easy, son, at all, but if you’re a child of mine at all, you’ll climb to the summit, son
And prove you can’t be ever left feeling thwart,
Son, you’ll soon learn to touch a vacant piece of sky, on your own.

So take a leap of faith; it isn’t easy to get to the summit
Of where I died, at the summit of your snow-capped, shoes. Jake!
Son, see your own grandchildren, your own son! And how he comes and done it too!
And how he became a man like you too!
Tall as a man from Everest.., But still,
Not yet so big to be small...

In a string green cotton army vest
Pull them soft white mitten climbers on to your mountain chest
And throw them over your shoulder
Breathe easy! Breathing easy, Son!
That’s just what you’ll do...
As you get older too...

Breathe easy, child, the skies at your feet;
And that bridge you’ve built has now only nearly just met you;
On the other-side of that highest lowliest peak, you and I call, home sweet home!

Topic(s) of this poem: song

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, April 13, 2014

Poem Edited: Monday, April 14, 2014

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