The Climb

Comfort is the warm wet kiss

Embracing my lips with every sip

Black coffee

On a September morn.

Comfort is the oiled cliff face

Singing to me as the world wakes up

“Not today”

But the gorge may tell lies.

Comfort is the sharp steel sound

Promising to save me if I fall

The harness

I do not need it though.

Comfort is the length of rope

Stretching up into the dim grey sky

High overhead

That I have yet to climb.

Comfort is the one wrong move

Spelling my death in bold black font

It’s awful

I wonder what it’s like.

Comfort is the cold dry wind

Billowing past as the ground draws near

Passions kill

Yet mine will set me free.

Comfort is the simple fact

Waking me up at past 4 AM

Nightmares suck

Now I must get to work.