The Traveller Poem by Wayne McCullough

In the world's dreams,
We still find our nightmare.
Dangling from our own self reflection,
Taciturn about our path.

All I can ask,
Why we always do it to ourselves?
Traveling in a turnabout,
Not finding an out.

Dancing in the starry twilight,
Trying to grasp, trying to breathe.
In a moment, finding solace,
It all becomes clear.

We simply are, here I am,
Standing, looking in a mirror.
Giving a halfhearted smile,
And shrugging, saying 'Oh, well.'

I have come to far,
I have traveled this road a long time.
Either take me as I come,
Or wave and pass me by.

I won't extend a finger,
I'll give a simple nod.
Turning in acceptance,
I'll simply carry on.