Edward Clapham Poet Prose Poetry

Is This All

Is this all?

Life is a country, spread before us at birth, its
Vistas stretching beyond the horizon, full of 
Mystery and anticipation. 

In the distance lie mountain ranges, 
Tall peaks of passion; this one the mother 
Of one’s children, that one the pinnacle 
Of a career, there the first marathon, 
Beyond wearing the green and gold.

And between are valleys, and deep gorges of 
Despair, counterpoint, giving meaning to each 
Peak, for what is altitude but the opposite of
Depression?

All is not a rollercoaster of existence: plains
Stretch in fertile sameness, each year growth 
And rich harvest; ears of wheat are as one’s 
Children that ripen and take on new life.

In time, the country is explored, the borders
Reached and new vistas beyond glimpsed.
And one looks back at distant ranges and 
Sweeping plains, and wonders “Is this all?”.


Out of the shimmering heat she appears,
Riding on a bay brown horse. Almond eyes, 
Arabesque lips, and high cheekbones; 
Telling their story, generation on generation.

And life takes on new meaning, resonances 
With the past command me, compel me in
Response: in adolescence there was a she, 
Who chased me, but then I was not caught.

 “Love sought is good, Love given unsought 
Is better” so the saying goes; and she chased 
Me, until I caught her, and she became my all.
Life is a country, spread before us.

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