Ah, cool water over sore fingers
Easing strains, swollen and tender.
The result of climbing, stretching, gripping,
An attempt at a sport known as bouldering.
Not that actual boulders are in use
Just in case you might confuse
The scene of humans splayed on a wall
Full of little grips, with colors and all.
I was one human on one of theses walls,
Doing this thing called bouldering
involving a lot of holding and gripping
Mixed in with heavy breathing
As I climbed my way across the hall.
Now I write with pain
from all the finger strain
And even the skin
is feeling thin
As I start to recover
from the climb that I discover
that I am no longer
any younger.
And i cant decide what to end this poem with.