Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Uplift to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
There is a ladder in my mind, with rungs made out of days,
And every one I climb takes me through a patient haze.
The top is out of sight, and the ground is far below,
But the rung that's underneath my hand is the only one I know.
I do not count the distance, and I do not check the sky,
I simply trust the rung I hold and let the hours fly.
Some rungs are slick with rain, and some are creaky with the years,
But each one holds my weight if I approach it without fears.
And sometimes I sit down to rest and watch the clouds go by,
For patience is not hurry, and it does not need to fly.
One day I'll stand up at the top, and look at where I've been,
And I'll smile at every wobbly rung that led me to the scene.
Poet of Uplift · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
Patience is pictured here as a ladder of days. The speaker cannot see the top, so the poem teaches the calm art of trusting the next rung.
“There is a ladder in my mind, with rungs made out of days,” and every rung passes “through a patient haze.” The top is out of sight, but “the rung that’s underneath my hand is the only one I know.” The speaker does not “count the distance” but trusts “the rung I hold.”
“Some rungs are slick with rain, and some are creaky with the years, but each one holds my weight.” The speaker rests sometimes, for “patience is not hurry.” One day the speaker will “stand up at the top” and smile at “every wobbly rung.”