Threshold

The balance is clear

from the ground and sky,

where the goal is to

lie among the stars.

Here is the grass and breeze,

our start, our home, our anchor,

Our knees that nestle with ease,

weeds tickling the skin,

Shins clink as one,

the sound dull and high,

chains mighty tons.

But to stand is to breathe

and to reach is to smile.

To fly great heights,

those tower miles,

They ask of us

these little steps,

to calm our frets,

and hum a little tune,

for now our weights

are not terrible threats.

We travel to no destination.

High, higher, highest,

The measure of our aviation,

The value of our soul

is only from ground zero

to the greatness of our pull.

Up the invisible pole,

up, up, up.

We are the mountain's peak

and our grip will become shaky,

determination weak.

Our wrists will drag,

so heavy, so great.

We slip, we tumble,

we trip, we fall,

and the loss will grate.

Tinker, thinker,

problem sinker.

Yank up the line,

is the hook with an answer?

The goal is the highest,

the antagonist vast,

and we all differ when

self and man and nature

are matters of nurture.

Confrontations last,

enemies on the frontline.

We need an answer,

We need it fast.

Quicken the mind,

create the salvation

for our singular invasions.

Our chains are snakes,

long and slinky,

the -ivity is the key

to our tethers

and the airborne sea.

To fly, or to swim?

Unimportant,

for we have no wings

and we have no fins.

Our arms with no force,

our bones of brittle,

gravity has no remorse.

So novel is the freedom,

so new an anchorless reality,

No more steps to take,

no height to climb

Only a length to fall,

and the clouds that drift high.

We ask the six,

where is the fix?

And this answer is very special,

subjective to the person,

the whims that bend to the individual,

very unique and exceptional.

They say,

there's a balance you scale

with love, a mix

of your touch,

and the maker's gale.

There is a word

we use when we fly with our fins

and swim with our wings.

It starts with mermaid,

or the spring with our May,

and ends with spirit,

the rocky journey it conveys.

A word for the break to the stars,

though the endeavor is

not quite the way of mars.

It has the same breath

as "the sky's the limit,"

And while 100% is nice,

the sound barrier

will be like ice,

Our punch with no vice

is a shattering wave,

The atmosphere will crack

in an inevitable cave.

Above, higher than highest,

our shoulders, strengthened by

home's gravity, will soldier this new

weightlessness.

Our fins and wings,

experienced and knowing

from hardship's license,

will move through

the galaxy with

grace and essence.

Touch the green,

reach the trees.

Up the slope with your

slippery hands, bleeding knees

and tremulous screams.

Soak in the clouds, struggle for air,

gasping, expanding, suspending

in the tumultuous affair.

Even frost, the stars,

the lightyears from the end,

the six finally say,

is a better friend than sloth,

the contented stray that

steels one away.

Do not fall deeper,

do not slip further,

do not bury quicker,

or sleep forever.

Become the shatterer,

earth-bounder.

Become the threshold breaker.