Upon that empty mountainside.

 Climb. Climb. Climb.

Upon a mountainside.

Heavy, the burden, upon my back.

Heavy, heavier, heavier.

Heaviest — one day, will take me down.

Up an ever steeper — steeper — steeper slope.

Climb, I say, Climb, I do,

As taunts come from the valleys,

And even from the mountaintops.

Climb, climb, climb.

Ever harder. Ever hard. Ever the slope goes up.

Ever heavier the pack on my back.

Ever louder, the baying about.

Climb. Climb. Climb.

I continue up. Tears within my heart and soul. 

Climb. Climb. Climb.

Upon the lonely mountainside.

Heavy. Heavier. Heaviest.

And one day I will not be able to go on.

Climb. Climb. Climb.

Upon the mountainside. 

Climb, I say, Climb I do.

Today, I must go on. Today, I must go on.

Today, I must go on. For today, I still can.

Even though I know soon enough in time,

The clock will tick, and my heart will beat,

And will it be that one last time,

That I climb, climb, climb upon that emptying mountainside. Upon that empty mountainside.

Prose by Marc Evan Aupiais

Vows entwined

 A vow. A lifetime away.

A binding oath, was said.

A lifetime — away, was vowed 

An oath did bind a life.

And suffering and sacrifice.

Libations of blood, and sweat.

Serving. Giving. All that was had.

And the mere mortal body to wild animals on need.

To love, whether of a feeling or not.

To give, with nothing left,

To give of bone and marrow,

When only eternity was left.

To respect, even when not loved,

To love, though met with grave disrespect.

And to give, and give, and give, and give.

Even to no respect. No love. No smile.

An oath, binding on the marrow of the bone.

On the flesh of the heart.

On the elasticity of the stomach.

A vow of sickness and health. No real escape, but death. Binding, always, impossible to be unsaid.

A vow. A lifetime away.

A binding oath, was said.

A lifetime — away, was vowed 

An oath did bind a life.

An oath will bind a life.

It ought to bind a life.

For words are sacred. Your word, more so.

And a yes must always mean yes.

Even unto death.

Vows that cannot be unset.

A yes must always mean but yes.

And yes. And yes. And yes. And yes.

A sacred oath must never be unsaid.

Vows entwined — prose by Marc Evan Aupiais

Void behind

 I speak. I am not heard.

My best shout is a whisper, within my head.

I cry out. I cry in. The void stands motionless.

It stares into me. Darkness fills my sight.

I run. I cannot move.

I flee, but nowhere beckons.

Sludge surrounds me. Quicksand slows my heart.

I cannot speak. I cannot breathe. Not in, nor out.

Riches, knowledge, sacrifice, work.

Youth. Health. Time. Offered away in a blink.

But I speak. I am not heard.

Sludge surrounds me. Quicksand slows my heart.

Failure beckons from behind.

I run. I speak. I sacrifice all I am.

I speak. I am not heard. Not yet. Never yet.

I speak. I run. I sacrifice all I am.

Behind me, darkness beckons.

I still speak. I still run. I still sacrifice all I am.

Behind me, darkness beckons.

Void behind - Prose by Marc Evan Aupiais

Unsaid

Few words. Fewer breaths. Cloudy skies, chilly bread.

A sun that does not warm the inside of my head.

Stars, blotted out by street lights, a moon hidden in daytime.

A buzz in my chest. A heart of lead. For cold water veins.

Fuelling the unseen shadow of my blood. Pump. Pump. I hear it in my skull.

Pump. Pump. Yet, I hardly move.

My chest does not desire to draw in breath. 

Few words. Fewer breaths.

A sun that does not warm the inside of my head.

Unsaid.

Prose by Marc Evan Aupiais