The unclimbed peak, to me,
restless little heathen
of commercialized adventuredom,
is the interminable challenge.
Ferocious, majestic, riveting spires
that obscure the humble hill
in the long-suffering alpen lake,
incapable but inculpable of communicating
to each indignant spire
that his hair is wind-blown out of proportion.
The tallest of the circus of unclimbables is the ego.
You, yet, haven’t a right to anything
higher than your handsome profile.
Picture the modern alpinist:
endorsed by every groan of industry
he can summon
and recall
the haggard heroes
of Expedition Honesty.
The winds of mountains global follow eager little eyes
and when did they ever lose?
So be rawed and awed and hat-holding cold
when meeting the expectant squall,
for man does not climb by legs alone,
for a trophy we atrophy needlessly.
Heedless, our uninformed enemy
waits.