The barren, windswept world of the unforgiving landscape of bare, white cliffs
like fists raging and pounding
against the fragile crust of the old earth.
An abandoned kingdom amidst the rubble of ancient towers and
built by fossils,
striding across our bleak soil.
A sea of glass, giving occasional diamond glints
as if offspring of the clouds and the stars.
A swift uplifting rush of wind is all you need
and you are awakened to the wisdom of many layers encased into the rock.
But not all great things are so revealing as the mountains.
Forts lining the edge of the black and white icebergs
put up by humans desperately trying to defend themselves against one another,
ignorant of the fact that the very stone they construct their safe havens from
will outlast them,
for snow and stone covers all, even war himself.
There is no limit in the eyes of the mountains.
Brothers with time,
dancing around to the very same blunt tune,
overseers of all occasions. They recognise and understand all,
for they have seen all.
The eyes of the mountains will not be veiled.
People flock in their hundreds to admire the glinting white daughter of the mountains,
using her, feeling her speed under their feet.
She gives them joy and happiness,
laughing amidst her hair. The mountains are imperceptible to them but He doesn't waver, only forgives, for the eyes of the mountains are Father to all.
Timeless legends are woven in with eternal beauty.
His greatness would shame the children's empires,
ever learning from the teacher of all.
He never needs to move from his rocking chair
as he sits atop the secluded throne. For he has eyes, his children do not.
They pollute his hands and slaughter their brothers but they are illiterate
and oblivious to true benevolence. But these tired, aged eyes can guide his children, and so they do, the eyes of the mountains,
these eyes will do.