Ode to Falling
Poetry, Science, Curiosity, Optimism
Dreams of the top is why I climb,
It’s how I will devote my time—
Through bark and branch of gnarled tree.
For this I do despite no rhyme
Or reason than merely to see
What, at the pinnacle, may be
Some evidently fruitless trip,
With naught but empty sky for me.
But look now, I have lost my grip,
Leaves stinging over fingers slip,
My face is scored by passing twig.
It’s just by grabbing hollow's lip
I right myself from fall so big,
Removing from my hair a sprig.
Again I climb despite my fall,
Determinedly—fingers dig.
Never a moment's halt or stall
Of the stars' perennial call
Toward the smaller, weaker bough
Arrayed atop this tree so tall.
Sweat and grit dripping from brow,
As eyes affix the apex now
With arms and hands stinging and sore,
Straining further than they allow.
Fevered imaginings before
The destination’s reached see more
Than what soever could be learned
Of universe’s hidden lore.
This revelation will be earned
Adduced by every sinew burned
Resplendent in its reflection
For only thoughts of wisdom yearned.
With my focused intellection
I did not detect the flection
And since my foot has lost the limb
Downward now is my projection.
I risked my life with chances slim,
Earth closing in around feels grim.
As there I break upon the ground,
The stars inside my eyes grow dim.
Were I not dead I'd look around
As once again the tree is found
By another's expedition
For sights outside our planet bound.
Steely nerve in their ambition,
Learning from my exhibition,
Use now a rope to climb the tree,
Reaffirming my position,
That what's important most to me
That none should ever be guilty
Of crime so old, such feckless cold
As base incuriosity.