STAIRWAY
For life is but an endless flight
Of stairs piled up by time;
E'en though ne'er was the summit in sight,
We humans ascend, in so that we might
The terminus find of so long climb.
We brave the heights with no sojourn,
The prize at the apex in our soul;
Notwithstanding if we be frayed or torn
Or crush or muted, dazed or worn
Or if away we fritter near the goal.
Many upward go, sans glancing again
At the tears of a rotten past;
And forgetting the moments when
We writhed and ached at hatred then
And cursed the joy that did not last.
But often, while in search for the final stair,
Where the stairway leads we find;
Yet we also learn that what we need to enter there
Is what we discarded at a lower tier
And thus we have to look behind.