We read about the lives of others,
The headlines draw us in,
But never share the volume of their days,
The vastness of their reach.
On the front pages
We realize that we know nothing about their fears;
The fears that stretch beyond the foothills,
And while we fight to reach the mountain,
We get swallowed at its base with fallen rock and sifted sand.
On the front pages
We read about victory one day
And terror the next.
How do we ascend from these foothills?
How do we reach the summit?
How can we climb when we feel shaken inside?
On the front pages
We deny our own demons while pointing at theirs,
Without a thought that our demons
Will ever break loose.
And still the demons run rampant here in the foothills.
On the front pages
We don't read of the Mountain;
We deny it exists and only look here on earth.
We look for answers in the foothills,
But answers live on peak.
But answers live on peak.
And that's why we have pain.
And that's why we have death.
We try to make sense of life in the foothills,
Yet were created for life on the Mountain.
Climb, and don't look back.
Climb, and do not fear.
Climb, and know there's a perfect life on the Mountain;
Where you'll look down on the foothills,
And see Truth through the eyes of God.
Written in response to Sunday Scribblings Writing Prompt: From the Front Pages
Written in response to Sunday Scribblings Writing Prompt: From the Front Pages
