The Journey and the man

The Journey and the Man

As a man scrambles up a steep mount side

He aims for the highest point

The most desolate of destinations

Where the trees dare not to grow

And the grass barely graces his soles

His muscles begin to ache

They throb tightly against his skin

His lungs start to stretch themselves weak

As the thin air begins to swirls his clouded thoughts

He starts to forget the reasons he climbs at all

He has walked this world alone

For forever or so it seems

Without cause, or rules, or regret

“Is there a price to pay for this?”

He worries…

“I live fully, and free, and glad”

He can see the ridge he struggles for

It’s non-descript, and bland, yet great

“I should be seeking the meaning of life”

He considers…

“But then what else is left to find?”

He crawls for the last few steps

And sits alone amongst the loneliest of stones

Too tired to be relieved

Insignificantly he stares in wonder

Across the vastness of land, of water, and of snow

He closes his dry, weary eyes

Presses his tongue between his teeth

He sharply bites to the point of pain

And not all too sure why

Hoping to find proof of his existence, or presence, or life, perhaps

He started this journey blindly

Not knowing why, or where, or what

He’s had no destination, or goals, or sights

What is it that he looks for?

Is it love, or lust, or just a reason for his life?

He feels the warm morning sun on his arid skin

“It’s not the destination that matters,”

He says as he finally understands

“It’s the journey, the struggle, the fight”

“That makes a man a man.”

As he carefully draws downward he realizes

That not wealth, nor goods, nor power

Can provide what the journey has

And not jail, nor shackles, nor death

Can take the journey from its man