Subterfudge

Somewhere on the edge I adjust fear, Sadness does not echo, Happy does not pierce, Fluid is my only vice, I must move these feet and hands, I must rise upward. There is no action without reaction, There are only sensory strings swarming my mind, The smell of broken rocks acrid whiff, The quenched thirst from a mountains liquid vase, The sound of nothing human born - only nature, The masquerade of wind and snow embodied together in form and function. Pleasure is writ in success and failure, Determination is born of will and grit, And in mountains there are men without disguise, Life does not pretend to be, There are no deceptions here, We each walk in devotion, Leave with a mind cleared like a meadow is of snow, From it Spring will come and a garden will rise from the cold and for a short time it will flourish. There is always balance! Everything is bound to that, Life and death, Risk and reward, I give credence to it all and to my fears the most, They are my boundaries shuddering and shivering, twisting in the guile of desperation, From them I learn to endure; There are no smoke and mirrors where man dangles from heights and clings to cleft to escape gravity! A wilderness may be my subterfuge, My vial of emotional substance that tempts me, And motion forward may unbalance, Yet, not everyone learns, Not everything is fair, but some learn enough to balance in a world tipping.