At Journey’s End

 

On a ledge, I am, stuck, it seems,

between eternity and my dreams.

The meadow ended long ago.

Perilous was the trail before the snow.

Now the perilousness of a trail would, for me,

be a welcomed relief from what now I see.

God, why can’t I be like the masses -

sitting in the meadow with sandwiches and lemonade glasses -

 staring at the peak from a hazy far -

viewing the world with wonder and awe?

But no… not I, and what of the adventurous few?

It seems I left them along the trail long ago too.

Alone, I am, so near the top.

Alone, I am, because I refused to stop.

So what of a lofty position in life

when it causes one such struggle, stress, and strife?

I now view the world from where I sit,

and I realize I would have been better off to’ve quit -

long ago when the peak was but a beautiful backdrop

painted upon the canvass of the perfect picnic spot -

in the sun, by a brook, with the grasses blowing -

in the eyes and the mind of a man not knowing

that the beauty inherent in everything

diminishes with the knowledge their details bring.

 

Date unknown, 1992?

 

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