The sun is broad above the forests,
intoxicating, blinding bright.
A moment of perfection, flawless,
a quiet place, almost a rite
of passage for transcending all
the measly binds of blood and flesh.
I lie beneath the sun, I crawl
the veins of this subastral trench.
I gaze upon how far I've come,
I weep upon what's left to creep,
whoever hikes a mountain lone
will feel it's hillside twice as steep.
Alone with thoughts there's nothing better
than doubting your way to the peak.
Sometimes I wonder, would I ever
walk paths, not knowing where they lead.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 6:12 PM UTC
The sun is broad above the forests,
intoxicating, blinding bright.
A moment of perfection, flawless,
a quiet place, almost a rite
of passage for transcending all
the measly binds of blood and flesh.
I lie beneath the sun, I crawl
the veins of this subastral trench.
I gaze upon how far I've come,
I weep upon what's left to creep,
whoever hikes a mountain lone
will feel it's hillside twice as steep.
Alone with thoughts there's nothing better
than doubting your way to the peak.
Sometimes I wonder, would I ever
walk paths, not knowing where they lead.
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