Espera

How peculiar: this distance,
a short flight to freedom, no lengths to soar.
Yet it strikes back in resistance,
barring my passage with one wretched door.

Sublime

And so he stared deeply into the fog that lay below - and cursed.

Had it not once stared in return? Had he always stood alone?

But he had long cast it aside, for he found
the face, the face in the fog was his own.

And stand he will,
even if he must stand alone.