January 18, 2008
The road to success
I’m almost a 100% positive that I did not make my “inner truth” clear but I figured this, not everyone understood that poem we had to read in English and its published so why does mine have to make perfect sense to everyone. I understand it and you can interpret it the way you want to but it is suppose to be the cycle of success, the road to the top is full of struggles, once you’re there you wonder if it’s what you expected, something shows it that it is what you were wanting, and then it ends.
I walk down a gravel road, a road I have been down several times but nonetheless it leaves me with a feeling of adventure. The road opens up to a clearing; at the edge of the clearing there presides an amphitheater. It is settled on a small hill, with a long, rickety, uphill ramp leading to the entrance. The entrance stands on top of the ramp it’s alone, tall and wide it’s ugly yet appealing. It draws you in because you know behind it there is a whole different world, a world on top of everything. When you enter this world you leave all your cares behind. The difficult part is getting to it, and it is a journey I look forward to.
I reach the ramp, look down and there lies an old, worn rug; it looked as though several others had treaded on it before me. Every two feet there is a bump in the carpet giving support to the walker, and they keep you from falling. They’re there for you even if you don’t need them. Overgrown weeds and plants surround the incline’s perimeter creating a zigzag, obstacle course. The leaves on the plants sway back and forth getting in your way. Anticipation swells inside of me as I start to stride to the top. A slight wind hits the side of my face and my hair sways in front. It turns and flips in the air like ribbons tied to a fan. Though it seems I may never reach the top I look back and see how far I have come. I use the accomplishments to push forward.
The wind grows stronger, and my hair pokes my eye. I tie it behind my head and finish the last little bit. I now stand at the entrance of the amphitheater looking down at the stage; my worries drift away. Relief fills my body as I turn around and glance at where I have come from. I walk forward, leaving the struggle of how I got here behind, simply studying everything around. It all looks different now that it’s been closed for sometime. Age and teenage delinquents has changed it; nonetheless it’s exciting and enjoyable. Helpless weeds looking for sunlight jut through the nooks and crannies of a once solid, concrete aisle. While the walls are covered in tasteless spray paint, there are names of people who have come and left their mark. I continue exploring this world; I look in every crevice wondering how it looked back when it was open and why this is on top of everything.
I walk to the highest point and look over the White Oak River. The warm and welcomed sun beats down on my face. I stand there closing my eyes and taking everything in. I feel the wind in my face as it pushes all my hair behind my head. The smell of saltwater and fish fill the air; it’s a smell that sounds undesirable, but keeps you wanting to breath it in forever because you can only smell it in places where nature hasn’t been polluted. I turn around and walk back to the seats; I carefully set myself down on the sleek, silver metal. It burns my leg, but it I ignore the slight pain. I look down at the stage and I see people of all ages dancing around and conversing with one another. They smile at their achievements. At once I know why it’s on top, the skill of the characters and the detail of the stage makes everything worthwhile.
As sunset arrives I stand up. Stretch a little; the breeze died down. I begin to leave the world I so anticipated two hours before. I stop and turn around and give one last look at the beautiful abandonment; I return to where I came from and slowly walk around all of the plants that use to be in my way. The ramp seems to have shortened, because I have seen all the obstacles and know how to avoid them. Reaching the gravel road, I turn one last time and reflect. The graffiti and rust melt away; the torn awnings repaired themselves, and a man trims the plants evading the pathway for the next person who is looking for time away from everything.
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