On every alluring  mountain peek
where the soil has buried it deep
there is a heart somewhere up there
hiding from everyone's reach
the rubble the rock the rugged roads
the cliffs the falls the thorns
the height the struggle the effort
differs from one to another
from bumps to dunes to spires
the struggle doth differ much
but if the climbers mind sees no other peek
then for sure your heart will be found.

A love buried in the depth of the earth
skipping the grave that can be lit up
and the bottom of the sea
water billows out of this abyss
netting the eyeballs of the sky.
Then the bottom of the night
was skipped likewise.

Taring the shades of black
there the moon rolls out
in the enchanting half-light.
So it had to be tucked away
only at the bottom of the earth.

Everything the all-inclusive pi  
could pop up from that safe womb there
that carries the weight of the matters  
but never shows up an equating pattern!

The nightingale scurries to the red rose
bubbling on the morning tessera
as if it mined out the treasure of the earth!
Oh it doesn't seem to be the only one scorer
upon the rose a mirror is up in the sky
‘Love’ is in the eyes of the sun!

I didn't go to school
fourteen hours a day to work at Walmart.
Its no small wonder these people smoke.

You'll never get ahead.
Just earn your daily bread and drink to forget
that poverty is slavery.

And no, you can't take a break.
You're in a "Right to Work" state:
money talks, you don't get a say.
You're fifty thousand dollars in debt.

Too many things to do
in not enough time for you to do it alone.
Don't let them take advantage of you.

no one's past should
define who they are today,

unless their present
is merely an extension
of the supposedly
dead and buried.

An avalanche of empathy
             dislodged
covering me in suffocating
                                realisation.

That I wasn't the mountain,
       more the snow.
               Soft and delicate,
   sentiment never compacted enough.