Years ago before me lay the great climb
and so far I was from what I’d reach
from what I’d try to reach
and so in doubt was I if I could
Still one day I started out
I started up
and clawed and scraped
one step each time
Slowly what was further become closer
a point I’d reached along the way
and then another
and then a next
But in each new destination accomplished
came the old feeling
the disatisfaction
the longing
no matter how far I’d come
the same doubtful feeling
and the feeling was not changed
Feeling knows not of distance
and this feeling is but one kind
Distance sees the changes
the movings the becomings
the reachings on that great climb
I set out to do
But this feeling returns
it follows and haunts
and makes me wonder
if the feeling is same
is the place different
It undoubtedly is
why then does it feel the same
InitialDrafts 