The Peak

A poem written and performed for 14East Live, with the theme of “nostalgia” in mind.

The Peak
He had thought himself in paradise,
But it hurt up here. 
It was very cold on top of the mountain,
And the cold was mean!
Mean to him and his swelling toes,
Mean to his hands for drying out his skin, 
So that skin peeled right off
And his fingers began to bleed

Yet he was told this was paradise
And he believed it for a while
Given his climb wasn’t so bad —
He remembered floating up the mountain 
Unscathed from a harmless blizzard 
‘Cause its sleet and ice pellets 
Had become a friendly flock of swallows. 

But he hads been here for two weeks
Without a swallow in sight,
The snow more like lice
Seeping into his scalp
And sucking on his spirit

Until, after two weeks
It finally killed him,
Leaving someone else now 
Standing in his body

And I’m not sure what to say
Of this replacement man,
We have yet to speak

But I know he must be cold
On the mountain,

At the peak.

Header Image by Eliot Solomon