Sojourn

On sojourn now
from here to there.
Dream of arrival--
I do not dare.

That destination
is far remote.
And for one like me,
to dare approach...

Unthinkable.
Laughable.
A fantasy.
A direction
so so far from me.

Can a flea mount Everest?
Can a rock make wine?
So how can the base
traverse sublime?

But on sojourn still,
and wonder why?
Vain to embark
and not arrive.

If such the case,
then why leave home?
Why take the trouble?
Why even roam?

Some people travel
to see the sights.
I do not sojourn
because I like.

I sojourn simply
because I must.
And envy those
content to rust.

If I could do it,
I'd do the same.
It's only because
I'd go insane...

So on sojourn,
keeping somewhat keen.
And walking,
at least, it keeps me lean.

"Where are you going?"
Over there.
"Can you even arrive?"
I do not dare.

That direction
is so so far from me.
To reach it
perfect fantasy.

Some make effort
to reach the prize.
I make effort
to keep alive.

But it's not
impending death I fear.
It's resigning to reside--
remaining here.