The only thing I can see
From atop the mountain of my success
Is the sin of excess
The failure to don wings and climb higher still
Seen as evidence of a lacking will,
rather than fantasy
Every impracticality, impossibility, distilled
Down to a point, the contrast unbearable
It courses through me, my blood ablaze
Goals flee my advance like the horizon
Replaced by new aspirations
They are oppressive and empty
The moment overflows with my ineptitude
“Could there be a concept as alien as gratitude?” I say
The mountain does not reply
I fall silent
The view does not inspire me
The breeze does not cool me
Rest cannot comfort the restless
Then, boiling to my lips
Is the one truth I can always confess
My mantra of ambition, my well of distress:
“I’m never good enough”
“I’m never good enough”
“I’m never good enough”
I repeat it quietly, setting my eyes on the horizon
Knowing I will stand on its distant peaks
And that no accomplishment
Could ever defeat the truth of these words