A Stroll With Harold High
A Stroll With Harold High
I wrote this poem for the Echo Chamber Effect last year, but decided to go another route with the website. But, I couldn't get rid of this poem. So, I stuck it on it's own page here on Wisedocks. Makes sense now to just throw it in a post. I also tweaked it a bit, to give it more bite.
Harold High could be any of us, blissfully strolling through life with a naive optimism that I so often see in those around me. There is a reason motivational speakers make so much money selling you snake oil and good thoughts; underneath your thin veil of optimism is the stark truth that we all come from the Earth and will one day return. You aren't special, and that's okay. Live your life for you.
You don't need to prove to the rest of us that you're okay. None of us truly are.
Upon a peak stood Harold high,
Greeting dawn's indifferent sky.
Deep breath drawn from borrowed air,
Once inhaled by souls not there.
“Today’s my day!” he boldly cried.
The abyss just yawned and coldly sighed.
He skipped downhill with eager feet,
Each echo mocked his bright repeat.
“You’re special,” sneered the mountain stone,
“As unique as leaves the forest disowns.”
A leaf fell slow with quiet glee,
A gentle laugh at destiny.
“Live your dreams,” a sparrow sang.
A chorus old, its feathers rang.
The note was sweet, the truth was plain:
Every song’s the same refrain.
Through village streets the slogans spread:
“You’ve got this!” chirped the baker’s bread.
The crust was warm, the cheer was stale,
Each word as hollow as each sale.
Still Harold grinned, his hope a shield,
Belief the crop the world won’t yield.
A borrowed cloak, a painted sky,
A lullaby that swears “don’t die.”
Stars blinked cold at day’s decline,
Silent witnesses marking time.
“Tomorrow shines!” said Harold’s voice.
The void replied: “There is no choice.”
And as he slept beneath night’s smile,
The cosmos chuckled all the while:
“Optimism’s a kindly fraud
Each ending’s the same. So, just grin and nod.”
