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?