PRISONER OF TIME 1 © 2007

I have been cyclically searching

For my own height, trying to reach

An ideal that always seems distant,

But I never quite manage to stretch my toes enough.

Each attempt is a renewed effort,

An incessant quest for something greater,

For a sense, a presence, an essence,

That makes me feel whole, without pain.

But as I search, it slips further away,

As if the height I desire is illusory,

And even stretching to the utmost,

I feel the ground still holds me, without glory.

Perhaps true height isn’t in growing,

But in accepting the limitations that surround me,

And finding fulfilment not in reaching,

But in the balance between being and wanting.

I have been cyclically searching,

But perhaps the answer lies in the present,

In accepting that my height is already sufficient,

Even if it doesn’t reach what the mind intends.

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