At The Summit

A poem of highs & lows.

Photo by Jens Freudenau on Unsplash

At the summit, I’ve vision in the realm.
(Oh, inner earthquakes, your ecstasy makes me complete.)
A symbol of my love’s bane for life. (I am complete.)
At the summit (of beastiality bliss,) I am whole.

& yet how?
How does a person absorb every bloom of bliss?
How?
How do I perpetually vanquish the spell of depression?

Alas, for we cannot force happy.
“Choose happiness,” my rear end — we cannot conjure bliss.
My sorrow will never end.

But with vigor, I take heart in life.
I burn with disbelief in happiness
as the energy of a thief would run through the night.