Extraordinary

On a hilltop, stark and wide,

Alexander stopped and sighed

And a question did his mind provide;

Will it all be enough?

Egypt, Persia, Macedon,

His list of trophies spurred on and on,

But when he himself was dead and gone,

Would he be called Extraordinary?

On a ship in the ocean, broad and bare,

To the West did Columbus stare,

Pondering what might lay out there,

Will it all be enough?

A route to India through the West

Would surely put him above the rest,

But would it really withstand time’s great test

And be called Extraordinary?

Under a tower, tall and white,

A Declaration did Jefferson write,

History will be made tonight,

But will it all be enough?

A government for and of the people,

Burdened by neither Crown nor Steeple,

But will it not crumble, still yet young and feeble,

Before it can be called Extraordinary?

Alone in a bedroom, stale and dim,

And burdened by the past hanging over him,

A young writer sat, time growing slim,

Trying to be enough.

Shakespeare, Washington, Hemingway,

Dostoevsky and Charlemagne,

All remembered as the best of their day,

Remembered as Extraordinary.

I am trying, myself, to make the mark,

To reach the bar and touch their hearts,

To be remembered as a bona-fide part

Of the ones who were enough.

But I’m not so sure I’ll make the ferry

And try as I might, I won’t get to carry

The torch of wonder as those before me

And remain, quite simply,

Ordinary.