The Edge of the World

 Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world — Arthur Schopenhauer 

The Edge of the World 

I used to believe the horizon—

that clean line 

where sky meets earth—

was honest 

From here, it looks like a promise 

a boundary the world agreed upon 

But walk toward it 

and the lie reveals itself 

The line retreats 

The world widens 

And I begin to see

how impossibility 

is often nothing more

than distance misunderstood 

What I called “the world”

was only the portion

my sight could bear 

Truth asks more of me:

to admit that other eyes

see other worlds 

that beyond my horizon

are landscapes

I have never earned 

So I test the fences

I once trusted 

I question the walls

that call themselves impossible 

I learn the map

is only a sketch 

a fragile guess

at a territory too large

for any single witness 

And growth—

real growth—

is the widening of vision:

listening to voices

I do not yet understand 

walking roads

I did not know existed 

letting other histories

complicate my own 

Without effort,

the world shrinks

to the size of my habits 

my culture 

my comfort 

And I will mistake 

that shrinking

for truth 

So I remind myself:

perspective is partial 

Vision is provisional 

Every worldview

is a draft 

I have mistaken 

the edge of my sight 

for the edge of the world 

There is no view 

from nowhere — 

only the angle

from which I stand 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

August 17, 2026