In India-His Search

He goes up and slides right down. The slippery slope just won't dry out. He looks above and way down low. The path's been blinded and unknown. He sits in bed until day break, reciting questions in tired head. The hours went and years slipped and while full, all quite replete. Replete of that which brings fulfillment of lasting breed, or real achievement. He wears a smile in one bright eye, the other carries a deepened cry. And so he climbs and crawls and runs. May he reach high, of the sustainable kind.