thoughts on 80

(with thanks to Father Gregory Boyle)

in a pit of stagnation and anguished repression
at once both chimeral and real
you inspired movement that i might reach out my arm
with optimism, to grasp an ideal

my eyes in the sky, my eyes in the mirror
i refused to set them ahead
swept up in my own sea of blind optimism
evading reality, dreaming instead

now my ideal is unveiled as whimsical fancy
and i find myself sliding back into my tomb
yet from the heights to which i had to ascend
the gulf is much wider between me and my doom

and from this position i've gained a new vision
perspective from outside my self-styled plight
it is not a pit, i see now it's a tunnel
and at the end i have seen there is light