Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

-- R. Burns Epistle to a Young Friend

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Walk It Out

People like me never know
How the world works
Or who is in control
-- most of time,
Until it no longer matters.

We do the best we can
With assumptions,
Learn to keep moving
on the strength of gumption
-- whatever that is.

You wonder why the trail's
so hard
And such a struggle for
every yard.
Then one morning
You rise in the cold, thin light,
Look back and realize that
In the night
You reached the crest
Of a mountain pass
You never knew
You were climbing.

We tell those coming behind,
But they never believe us
In their time,
That it is a long, slow climb.
So some quit and stop,
Curse the ground,
Reinvent broken wheels,
Failed alchemy deals
To make the compass leave true,
Make the plumb line skew,
Much ado.

People like me never knew.

We are fools, to trust,
Believe any good or just
or true.
Yet here we stand
On the height
Dawn breaking from
The greivous, greedy night.
It's not that we were right.
We kept going.

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