by Nick Gisburne
It feels like mine, the sanctum where I sit,
A hundred stories up, a hundred down.
I climb to see the sunrise and commit
My body to this godforsaken town.
Ironic that I’m grounded in this place,
Imagining I’m climbing to a cloud.
Of all the precious moments I embrace,
Not one began below me in the crowd.
If life must peak before its quick decline,
Perhaps I picked the perfect place to go.
We’re challenged by our choices. This is mine.
Simplicity defines it - yes, or no?
The sun, my mentor, meets me in the sky,
Insisting this is not my day to die.
