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STAIR MASTER, or the "It's a trap" Poem

I stepped upon the winding stair
Tentatively, wonderingly venturing
Into an unknown place.
How I got there, I didn't know.
I've been many places by accident
That was nothing new or troubling.
It was only the stair I had never seen
And the gray walls I did not know.
Perhaps you think I'm crazy,
Stepping foolishly into the unknown,
But there was something that called me forward
A feeling that I could not turn back
I could only move forward

Bravely foolhardy, I took the first step.
Up, up, five steps, then twenty
Until I came to a picture frame.
Gold, gaudy, annoying, shiny
The kind of frame your grandparents have.
Within the frame, incongruously
Was a black matte and two words
"Look down," dressed in white.
Obediently, I looked down, only to see,
What? Nothing. Just the stairs.
Albeit, they were beautiful stairs.
Mahogany, well stained, carved even
In swirls and circles, a Celtic knot.
Seeing nothing interesting further,
I carried on, step by step by step.

Forty more steps and my thighs were hurting.
I don't work out much, don't like it.
Suddenly I came to another picture
Garbed in simple vesture
A black frame with clean lines,
And inside this, behind clean glass
Lived four words for me to read:
"Appreciate the small things."
Touche, winding stair, I thought.
Your lesson was craftily delivered
And happily learned. Bested by stairs,
I climbed on, huffing, puffing, dying.

Sixty stairs, I counted accurately,
Though I could feel delirium setting in.
On the sixty-first stair was a poster
No frame, just tape to hold it there.
And on the poster was a picture of weights
With the words, "You are out of shape."
I came quickly to the conclusion
That this was a particularly ironic stair
One infused with sarcasm and quippiness.
This was a bad stair. I hated it. With a vengeance.
I kept on walking, choosing to ignore it.

One hundred and seventeen stairs
A new record for me.
The walls had changed to purple
Or maybe that was blue.
Though my eyes were probably playing tricks
Due to the lack of oxygen.
One hundred and twenty-three stairs,
Each one a new record.
Guinness should put me in their book,
I thought as I huffed and puffed.
This was a ridiculous stair.

But I soon began to feel the end
And a sudden sense of accomplishment
Because I was beating the evil staircase.
I was climbing the last stairs
Stepping with leaden legs on each Celtic knot
Counting and sweating and struggling to breath.
Two hundred and three, two hundred and foud
More huffing and puffing
Making the walls change to horizontal rainbows.
Were the rainbows waving?
Two hundred and fifty-three with no more stairs to count.
And what should greet my waiting eyes?
A vista with mountains shrouded in morning mist?
A sunset over a calmly lapping sea?
I was hoping for one of these.
Instead I saw a black wall
With a white sheet of paper
On which the words were written,
"You're welcome for the workout.
Have a pleasant walk down."

I should have known better.
This was a truly sadistic stair
With not even a beer at the end to make it satisfactory.
You're welcome for your jollies,
You sad, perverted prick.
With a sigh and a curse, I re-embarked
Down this time instead of up,
Promising that I would not come this way again.