I am a mountain waiting to be climbed,
its slopes slippery and rough
Each poem is the face I am inviting you to scale,
not taking the clearly defined path
that prose would provide,
but a harder course with handholds and footholds
that will not give way if you
use your mind to select a wise course.
If I did not trust you so, I would give you a secure railing
like one provided in showers and bathtubs
for the elderly;
but I know, if you have made it this far,
that you have the stamina to make it on your own.
Every mind is both a mountain waiting to be climbed
and a climber sometimes bent on climbing,
at other times, content
to stand at the mountain’s base,
waiting for the scree to come to him.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “I Am a Rock.”— Is it easy for you to ask for help when you need it, or do you prefer to rely only on yourself? Why?