The Climb

The poem brings together my thoughts and feelings before, during, and after my climb up the Eiffel Tower.

It’s something I’ve always wanted.

Number eight

On my bucket list.

But standing here,

About to climb,

All I can think is,

            “Am I out of my mind?”

 

Why go to Paris

And not climb the symbol?

The Eiffel Tower.

It has to be done.

My trek begins,

inhaler in hand.

 

330 stairs,

Then the first floor.

The excitement

Doesn’t last long.

330 stairs? Ha!

Only 340 more.

 

After an eon

I reach the top.

The air seems thinner,

My breath, lost.

Lungs begin to collapse,

And my legs turn to jello.

 

As I stop to breathe

I look around.

So far below me

Paris moves about.

Yet I hear nothing.

Silence.

Peace.

Awe.

I catch my breath

And finally can relax. 

Author's Note

This is the first thing I've written in almost two years, so I'm pretty rusty. Feel free to leave constructive criticism,