Loathsome memories



I loathed that towering hurdle.

Abhorrence was a gentle way to describe it.

Mildew was generously coated on its walls.

Light was an unwelcomed stranger to its depths.


But I grew around that Gothic monstrosity,

Creeping and crawling over its peccant walls;

I grew into its gloomy depths,

Breaking through, and bleeding along its stained glass.


I grew over its soaring walls,

With no angel to tend to me.

I grew over its soaring walls,

With plenty of gargoyles to taunt me.


I reached its spire, triumphantly.

But there was no glory in my victory.

I had made it through the spiraling hurdle,

But the journey had left me in solitary.


And now, I must spring like the magic bean plant

From the tales of an enchanting fantasy.

I must go on to reach the sky,

But it shall be in the bleakness of reality.


And I shall be real, and it shall be no magic.

It shall be my determined heart, my learned mind,

And my wise and broken soul.

Maybe it's all a little tragic.


So I gave it my kindest gratitude for no mirth.

I gave it my sincerest apologies for whatever it was worth.

But the painful journey shall be remembered

And recovered from, until the day of my death.


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