Was this the mountain top the good doctor spoke of?
Lonely but always the steep sides his friend.
Standing alone, without even the granite as comfort
Cold wind and a precipice on every side.
A memory of this fear from the foot hills years ago.
Now the precipice is real not imagined.
Self doubt a nearly unaffordable luxury
The sleeping and fearful tyrant in everyman’s heart stirs in his
The soaring heart of the hopeful hero in hopeless fight
Now a fond memory.
“Humility tempers the tyrant
Love steadies the feet upon the crest”
He whispers, half believing
half hoping it’s true.
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