I suppose we all have a place like this
somewhere we go
when the defeats of the world
just become too much to bear
and escape is our only choice.
Some people head to rooftops
where they can watch the world
unfold below them
and feel superior to the people
toiling beneath their feet
like Zeus on Olympus
or perhaps Caesar on his throne.
Others head far out
to some exotic place with palm trees
and hula skirts.
They take in the scenery
and let the pampering melt away their worries
much like Cleopatra in Egypt
or perhaps Elizabeth in England.
But me, I suppose I'm different.
When the world becomes too much
and my losses and worries too great to bear
I head not to the rooftops of New York
nor the beaches of Waikiki
but to the forest next door
to a little place I know
that rests at the edge of a stream
It's a lovely place
nestled underneath the nearby roads
far enough away to be quiet
close enough in to be reached.
But it's also a lonely place
not even basic conversation.
Nonetheless, it's my place
with nothing but the sound of gurgling water
and the wind blowing through the trees.
It lets you think.
It lets you put it all in perspective
and melt the worries away for good.
But while I've traded the power of Zeus
and the pampering of Cleopatra
for the rustic styling of Thoreau
it doesn't change a thing.
It's what I need to find my strength
when all hope seems lost.
It's what I need to preserve my sanity
in the a very insane world.
I like it there
and I think it likes me too
because never once has it asked me to leave
or pushed me away.
Never once has it told me
I don't have enough money
or enough friends to stay.
You are free to keep your way
your homes of gods and kings.
Me, when the world gets to be too much
and the defeats become too much to bear
I'll still head to the same place
my quite little home
perhaps my final resting place
along the stream bank.
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