The walls grow ever more

slippery – steeper, mocking;

forcing me back;

down into my place

among the grime and the rot.

But my spirit is spitfire!

Ragged and torn as I am,

imbued with fierce determination

I ascend once more,

nails like claws; gripping like talons

seeking purchase and escape

from the monotony;

the bleakness of the rat race.

I will climb. I will rise.

Even if I must climb out of this pit

A million times,

my desire will prevail.