One Perennial Parameter


Like a string of dreams
Just, just there; almost
Almost, almost
I could be touching it,
One eye closed
The other, focused and
My arm outstretched, it’s
At my fingertips even from
On my boat, which is rickety,
On an ocean which is rough;
And every paddle, every leap
With its Herculean demands, took me
No closer
To where I wanted to reach
For there’s always another stretch
Of choppy sea
Maintaining it’s distance, but never falling out of sight,
Where I can see the sun setting, but it’s
Rising just there, too,

Not good, not bad, just a form of stability,
A time when my “dreams” have morphed
Into the tag of a tangiblity,
A promise of constancy
That, somehow, I know,
I will never reach
For every step leads me another hundred
Promising an end to a bottomless pit
Yet, after the hundred, there’s always
Just a few more plot twists before my story wraps up completely
For there is no climax
On an unceasing trail, no veridical finish line:

It’s just an illusion, to see it in front of me
When actually it catapults me from behind,
The fact that I’m not quite there
And it’s still just a few miles away now,
My destination,
Just at the horizon.

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