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.
