FALLOW FIELD

This poem comments on promotion based merely upon 

aspiration, without regard to life's related sacrifices. 

I clawed the crumbling rocks.
Through the frosty mists I crawled
until spent and resigned to fail.
I cut my hands and tore my nails
for the ledge I had to find,
then finding I fell.
I awoke on my ledge to a feeling of loss;
cold: no more I viewed the fallow field
and lost I was, as up they came.
From my ledge they were small,
but having my scent they surged on and up
some falling, some jumping,
they thinned to a threatening few,
and panic with dread of losing my ledge
launched me to climb again;
higher and higher 'til my air thinned
where few could live
and to see the field was marred by the giddying heights,
but I saw the summit and I saw the man,
he beckoned as I wearily ran.
I nearly reached him; but too late,
or just not soon enough?
He jumped.
Plummeted to reality,
to life and friends in the fallow field.

Cake know what I mean

The start of it.
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