The End Of The Line

i cannot tell you when i will arrive

but i can tell you that i will

arrive.

At journey's end

perhaps a bit bloody,

certainly filthy,

bruised knuckles, aching joints,

stinking of screams and defeat.

And i will weep such relief

collapsing to my knees on the road's final stone,

a guttural gasp of my sobs

will make earthquakes and volcanoes

that topple and burn the tower

of sacrifices i made to get here.

And i will be weightless.

And free