Written during a night of pure contemplation, regret, and painful reminiscing, I had to let go. I feel like I did so in this hastily scribbled image...
I turn, and then I turn again,
finding no end to this spiraling staircase.
It hovers above earth, beyond all comprehension,
its depths lead to an end that man could never wholly fathom.
Climbing stone after stone, softly treaded
as I slowly proceed, already fatigued and weary.
To what end I trudge towards, I do not know.
In hope, my faith is placed, and so is my reserve.
It can be considered an honor to ascend these steps,
or a curse, if you wish it so. But be sure to remember
that regardless, the steps are only steps in the end.
March or crawl, you will find nothing but your own reflections
staring you in the face as you stagger upwards.
All the dreams accomplished or failed,
all the tragedies played out, or the triumphs reported,
All on display in your head, never ceasing,
Just like this staircase, eternally ignorant of your weakened state.
How I long for someone who can carry me,
take a shortcut and send me hurtling,
past the flights of steps, up towards something different,
perhaps something good. How I wish I could see,
what awaits, and if there is some reward for all my tasks fulfilled,
Or even what punishment I may deserve for crimes I’ve committed.
If there is any hope in this madness, I cherish it greatly,
and climb continually, despite the odds that
there may be no reward at the end; just a void of nothing.
So if I could find that one person to keep me standing,
look them in the eye, knowing they’re always there,
I would never fear the sun again, or its poor timing,
announcing another day I wish would die.
Nor would I wish that I could step into that void,
never to return to all that exists.
…
Yet here I am, no one behind me on these steps,
and I know that no one can follow me where I go now.
I must move on as I always do: alone and solo.
