Enough Poem by Richard Trembath

What am I doing here, surrounded
By everything I've ever wanted,
Yet dissatisfied…?

Why is it I still yearn
For something I have never known
And which probably
Is unattainable?

It makes no sense forsaking
The substance for the shadow,
Especially when the shadow
Is unknown, untested,
Just a fleeting wisp of fantasy.

The shadow holds no promises
But only hopes intangible,
Hopes that perhaps this time
The jigsaw pieces fit -
And comfort that they might.

So do I settle for the substance
Still knowing that the shadow
Makes no promises, yet
Could deliver more…?

Do I allow my fantasy to strive
To seek a brighter, distant goal?

Just how far up the mountain
Do I climb before I pause,
Enchanted by the view,
And say: ‘This is my peak,
I climb no more. I am content,
I marvel in this view -
This is enough….'