the tragedy of self

the tragedy of self

be that some unnamed mountain peak, climbed and bent under knee, a breath on top of the roof of the world, three hundred and sixty degrees, a view for few or even a king or a queen, only here and now, on the short pinnacle, the way down, the paths crossing, somewhere down, hidden by height and cloud cover, where the under dwells, where our lives lead, the to and fro, while not always climbing, just passing, station to station, aspiration sometimes leads to inspiration, the elevation, but all of this, the lofty heights, the lofty goals, must at once, inevitably – lay down… so take the breath in, enjoy the view, and smile in the sun’s light when you can.

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