A Poet's Journal: April 1st, 2014
What is beyond? What is behind the next hill? We tend to ask ourselves such things, desiring more than what is seen, and wanting just that part that we've imagined, to define the things that remain in front of us. Our hike up the hill is met with another horizon and then another, and still more beyond, so that we are led to believe that when we reach a certain point, a new and sudden expanse will give us a perception of the moment. But our disappointment recognizes itself time and time again and our last hope is an approximation of the present aspect: the long path goes down through infinity and life hangs on the verge of something immortal.
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