Fighting for the Write Cause

I stand at the rocky base Of my tallest mountain. No path in sight, no guiding light, My jaded heart is full of spite, And only pin pricks dot the night So very far away. A statue in the mist that cloaks My silhouette in solemn grey, I want to fade; these thoughts decay Like rain dispersing river clay On shorelines which keep tides at bay So very far away. I brace myself for a retreat That never comes, never forces Weary feet back down an easy track-- But it’s stamina I lack And thus, in defeat, I crack, and find myself So very far away. Within my vision I can see That weathered peak on which my goals Rely—I close my mind to failure, Grab the woodwork, shut the door, And rally hopes that march to war So very far away. Sun rays erase the trace of doubt, Piercing clouded thoughts that bind me To the base of my tallest mountain. Shackles fall, and with them, fear. I am here; so close, so near, And not so far away.