In dark or day, with rain or burning sun,

nothing holds as pure as a mountain’s air.

When all is quiet and the day is done,

I feel so much guilt for the weight she bares.


Among me are thousands of other guests,

Her rocky flesh, we will surely consume.

Myself, the trees and the animals- pests,

worsening winter’s night till summer’s noon.


She pushes me closer to her clifftops

I peer over the edge, fearful, yet numbed.

not fearing the pain, not fearing the drop,

but fear of destiny- to which i will succumb.


For my bones will become fertilizer,

to the ever-selfless, fertile mother.