With arms stretched I struggle to see over the wall..
My chin pressed against the stone, upward I crawl..
My fingers feel the warmth but my eyes are blind..
An endless climb as my heart feels what my soul will find..
My hands start to write words on each slate I pass by..
Leaving my mark for the next poet to see if they choose to try..
I pull myself over to see a world of art and poetry..
There I pull up a chair to and take my seat and write for me..