High
The mountain
takes the sky above it and the black sand below
and raps them in his breath.
Rolling high above the waves and barnacles
My cheeks sting red from the skipping ride across the cove.
the mountain hasn’t changing, a constant.
I have traveled its omnipotent rode, many times.
My innocence scattered along the path
like dew.
The trek is easier now.
I am stronger. The mystery is gone now.
Once the woods held secrets and treasures for thought
and every step was a triumph.
The winding path was
an epic journey
and the elements threatened defeat.
Stumbling and sweated I’d reach the top.
The all encompassing spirit
would rap me up in her arms
and whispered sweet dreams of the future
the brevity of life
disappeared in my greatness and significant being.
Harder times sold the wonder from beneath my resting head
and here, at the foot of this mountain,
I stand in confidence
no longer amazed by natures omnipotent hight.
I see the shadows in the wood and feel no curiosity
and when nature sings I feel no desire to listen to its honesty.
I spend years (it seems) in book and introverted realties
which strip me of the purest form of humanity.
Where once I stood on the top of a mountain
and thought of the greatness of self
I now question all forms of lively hood
and fear the swelling waves of future.
As a child I bounded on wings of joy
into the wooden cabin on the mountain
and sang while time floated by
and tea boiled in kettle and I had time to dream.
Now here I stand where I have stood so many times before
and I can’t help feeling nostalgia
and longing for my innocence
where things where easy.
Innocence flies, it really does,
and once the sky has fallen the birds don’t sing.
and questions
why does experience create so many questions?
shouldn’t time resolve?
In the morning I’d awake and speed down to the shore catch
the glimmering fishes twisting in the light and make sculptures
from salty stones.
Now I awake in a cabin I have slept in many times
there is no novelty
and my privileges makes the exceptional ordinary.
I drowsily remove myself from sleep
and sit on the porch with a view of the cove.
I see a view which I have seen many times before
yet the incomprehensible contrast of the world
still strikes
hard
like a bullet through a chest.
In the years that come
I want life to crystalize
to form diamonds
hard, durable, and divine.
so when I sit here
I will have my future
and I will know some answers.
at least some
more than now.
I want the sea of fears to part
and let my spirit free.
I will sit on this wooden porch
weather worn and historied
and I will see through fresh eyes
and again feel the strength from within.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
High
The mountain
takes the sky above it and the black sand below
and raps them in his breath.
Rolling high above the waves and barnacles
My cheeks sting red from the skipping ride across the cove.
the mountain hasn’t changing, a constant.
I have traveled its omnipotent rode, many times.
My innocence scattered along the path
like dew.
The trek is easier now.
I am stronger. The mystery is gone now.
Once the woods held secrets and treasures for thought
and every step was a triumph.
The winding path was
an epic journey
and the elements threatened defeat.
Stumbling and sweated I’d reach the top.
The all encompassing spirit
would rap me up in her arms
and whispered sweet dreams of the future
the brevity of life
disappeared in my greatness and significant being.
Harder times sold the wonder from beneath my resting head
and here, at the foot of this mountain,
I stand in confidence
no longer amazed by natures omnipotent hight.
I see the shadows in the wood and feel no curiosity
and when nature sings I feel no desire to listen to its honesty.
I spend years (it seems) in book and introverted realties
which strip me of the purest form of humanity.
Where once I stood on the top of a mountain
and thought of the greatness of self
I now question all forms of lively hood
and fear the swelling waves of future.
As a child I bounded on wings of joy
into the wooden cabin on the mountain
and sang while time floated by
and tea boiled in kettle and I had time to dream.
Now here I stand where I have stood so many times before
and I can’t help feeling nostalgia
and longing for my innocence
where things where easy.
Innocence flies, it really does,
and once the sky has fallen the birds don’t sing.
and questions
why does experience create so many questions?
shouldn’t time resolve?
In the morning I’d awake and speed down to the shore catch
the glimmering fishes twisting in the light and make sculptures
from salty stones.
Now I awake in a cabin I have slept in many times
there is no novelty
and my privileges makes the exceptional ordinary.
I drowsily remove myself from sleep
and sit on the porch with a view of the cove.
I see a view which I have seen many times before
yet the incomprehensible contrast of the world
still strikes
hard
like a bullet through a chest.
In the years that come
I want life to crystalize
to form diamonds
hard, durable, and divine.
so when I sit here
I will have my future
and I will know some answers.
at least some
more than now.
I want the sea of fears to part
and let my spirit free.
I will sit on this wooden porch
weather worn and historied
and I will see through fresh eyes
and again feel the strength from within.
Poem inspired by William Wordsworth
