Pinnacle

It’s a trope, you know

The aging man with the bad mustache

Looking back at the height of life

Throwing pigskins to a cheering crowd

Just before the homecoming dance

I am he grasping back to a wild success

that failed

Failed to hold due to forces beyond my control

All the forces are beyond me

I like to think I am self determined

I like to think I have wherewithal

I like to think I can

Except on days I can’t

It’s too hard to dream anymore

Too hard to believe

Too hard to try

It’s too much sometimes

To even open up my eyes

It’s too difficult to see

Ambition runs right out of my veins

I am deflated

I am defeated

I haven’t heard the pistol

Nothing has begun

I can’t get to the starting line

I don’t really want to run

I amble back into the forest

To watch the sunshine through the leaves

I don’t want that to be the pinnacle

That can’t remain the top

Of all I have accomplished

I don’t really want to stop

My passions are more muted

The edges have been rounded

Smoothed down by time and tears

The fire burns more broadly

The fuel is hardwood not the soft

This flame is more longlasting

I still can reach the top

A slow climb

A steady step

Already I can feel the changes

A return of something wholesome

I make beauty every day

My gift is heart as much as skill

I don’t need to win a ribbon

I don’t want to be

Here I am still breathing

Love with every breath

I let the future do its thing

It does what it wants to anyway

I just do this thing before me

In that senseless, timeless way

Listening always to the heartcalls

That keep me going

Every day

brown and black cut away acoustic guitar
Photo by Jessica Lewis on Pexels.com

2 thoughts on “Pinnacle

  1. Amazing poem, Wendy. Every line and vision thereof I’ve lived, struggled with and finally embraced. This is truly lovely I absolutely “feel” it. Also, inspiring picture of the guitar. I’m taking mine to the porch now, reflecting back with songs that brought me here.

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