So I wandered in the darkness
Toward the light at the end of the world.
And there, ahead of me,
Gnarled hands and all,
Was the Sherpa at the end of the world.
I climbed up into the night
Faceless shapes drifting to and fro
Incessant marching of restless souls
Crying for my spirit
To take them to the end of the world.
I saw the moonlight rising there
Opaque pearl on blue agate rock
Cowering at the end of the world.
“My child, where do you run to?” I heard the Sherpa call me.
“I have only known the darkness,” said I, “and I have passed the edge.
“But there is still further to go. There must be a way
Through the tunnels, a path I have not seen,
A light at the end of the world—it is here.”
“My arms cannot reach you, my child,” said he,
“I cannot make the road rise to meet you.
“I cannot part the seas,
I can only guide you through my voice.”
“But I no longer see you,” said I, “how will I ever find you?”
“Find you…find you…find you…”
Royalty echoes at the end of the world.
The winds shift, the shadows slink away.
The Sherpa melts into the night
Into the light of day
Into the end of the world.