May I Go Now? - a Sestina

In my mind, a cliff is fixed before my eyes

The stairs I seek like the heavens

Prayers are murmured from my lips, my palms raised high.

My hands are walls so the barbs cannot reach

The sand is eaten at my feet, beneath the salt it could not stand

Frozen as a statue seen is what I will become.



I have no mate or friend for distress that any has become

I search, I pine, I rage and beat, and then I wash my eyes.

Why must I feel? Why must I be? Against a wall I stand.

I wish to flee, I wish to leave, perhaps to a place in the heavens.

Is there a place for me there? If I yearn for it, will I reach?

I shall try, I will see. I will test, a hand high.



My hand is stretched out, perhaps no one cares that it reaches high?

I don't have the strength to persist. If I stay like this, what will I become?

If I peer very hard, and pray very much, is it the end I reach?

I'm trying, I am, but I can't see the end, only my past is in my eyes.

The sand is encroaching and I cannot wade, my path is blocked to the heavens.

I don't want to be here, my ankles are weighed, and my legs are forced to stand.



The sand can collapse, why can't I? Why must I be made to stand?

If others were to spy my here, I would have to raise my head high.

I would pretend that I wish no other place, and that I did not seek the heavens.

They would smile and flatter; look how strong she has become!

I would stare at them, content and calm, a spark of wit in my eyes.

When they turned their backs to congratulate themselves, I would still wish and reach.



I would pretend a different place, a different time, and a different me to reach.

I would place my feet on solid ground, a rock on which to stand.

I would seek a life outside of here, away from their prying eyes.

If I searched and called and pleaded, maybe if I looked up high

I would find the boldness, the courage, and the freedom to become

I could pull my feet free, and I could climb one step towards the heavens.



I could take one step, and then perhaps beg my way into the heavens.

If I tripped or fell down a ways, maybe I could reach

Maybe someone kind would lift me up and my friend they would become.

Together we could walk the stairs, at the top we could stand.

We could gaze upon the people I left behind, the ones who seemed so high.

I could ask them if they miss me, or did they ever even see me with their eyes?



I could look from the heavens, from there I could stand.

I could reach out to them but they would still be too high.

I would become a grain of sand, too small to be seen by their eyes.