At this stage of my old earth age,
the once pink sand of my island skin grown thin,
eyes dimmed by the white hot glare of sunshine sea,
my youth, a memory, I lay.
These stoney bones no longer hold
the victory dreams I had to conquer mountains.
I climbed a few, but knew by intuition
I could stake no claim on their majesty.
The strings of bronze flecked hair
soaked with sweat a testament of my defeat.
And now, they speak through my confused
gray splatter matter mind with a whisper saying,
"We held no malice".

Written by Sara Fielder © Jun 2013