Crying tears to the night sky

The lyriad pities those

Whose gazes are lifted

By weak necks

To envy those

Whose wings carry them far above, but

I wonder

Why do they look so high

And sigh

When at their feet

The stairs and ladder lie forgotten?

Climb to the top of your mountain, my friend,

And if you see one still higher, climb that one too,

For once you have climbed the highest mountain,

You may rest as close to the stars as you can be,

You may lift your gaze

On a strong neck,

And then, you will be free

To dream.

The lyriad pities not

Those whose labor is hard,

But their paths, clear.

The lyriad pities those

Who leap molehills in the shadow of their mountain,

And those

Who rub sandpaper against its sides

In hopes

Of smoothing it to a hill, and yet

They hope in vain.

The lyriad sheds tears

For those who climb

And fall

And do not rise

But the message that is scratched

By stiffened fingers

In the sand

Reads ‘I tried’.

The lyriad spares no sadness,

But cries its askance

why those who climb and fall and

Jump and climb again

Do not try another path but the same?

The lyriad sings

For those whose path

Is uncertain

Yet they chisel it out as they go

Never stopping

Despite the unwilling cliff face;

Neither wants to yield

And neither will—only

Giving here and there

Battles in a war

That becomes a friendship.

Not only

shall they be masters of their mountain

But their mountain shall have mastered them;

For these, the lyriad sings.