A tree-filled forest
Peppered with flower fields;
At the foot of the mountains I stand;
Holding your hand.

And as our gazes slowly turn from the horizon to each other’s eyes
I can hear the birds singing their love chants.
I can feel the butterflies in and outside my stomach.
I can smell the love odour of Spring in the air.
I hear the squirrels fight over one another
And see the melting snow forming streams.

As we lay down in the green high grass,
And as I rest my head on your chest,
I can only hope this moment will never end.

I get up and turn around,
My lips finding yours.
Is this what they call heaven on earth?
A young boy with the prettiest man of the world,
Never to be separated.

Tell it to the mountains
tell it out loud that the world might hear
Wax up the steep and rugged hills, journey the valleys and fountains
tell them! oh tell them now that they are near

‘that there lived the casted stones
Let the world hear of their silent voices
‘though may come as echoes
Yet, in peasantry they live and make such loud noises

The worthless pearls have found their worth
they sought for noesis and were answered without delay
Tell it out loud for
the son and daughters of lay men are now of great names

Tell their success story
Tell them it’s not all irony.

©Emmiasky Ojex

I lurk outside the syndicate
roaming it's vast walls
I wish to be apart
yet, I remain feral at heart
I crave the attention those  who lay within
those who pick their flowers
who sing in their choirs

I yearn so deeply to belong
but found myself
running with the wolves
howling at the moon

The lost children
forsaken at the gate
we found a place our own
under the starlight

Prancing in forests
chasing mountaintops
we are together
we are whole

With nothing in mind, on the soft green ground
While gazing around inside of a dream
Squinting of Sun, inhaling of sounds
Relaxed, next to a running river's gleam
Serene and sedated, the rustling of leafs
A lease - eternal, an ease inside
A polished, pure and perplexing peace
I slowly sway into the swallowing sky

Sounds of the gush and the wingless glide
Divided between blue and beautiful bright
A meeting of mountains and stars magnified
Below - a haze. Above - the great light
The delight of the earth, protruding and proud
Shrouded silhouettes and gorges that glow
Maps of the sky, echoers of sound
Transport me down to the wet below

Floating on top of the swirling blue salt.
Exalted beyond the liquid haze.
The deepest doors of this massive vault.
A conversation with the warping waves.
A daze of darkness in this alien waste.
Embraced in unknown - pulling me down.
A captive buoyancy with calm erased.
The essence of life, in which I will drown.

Finally, walls, blank and opaque.
The ache of vast indifferent time.
With a failed past comes a future vague.
Measured only by its dangling decline.
Maligned touches of world-less colour.
The collar of emptiness. The forever nothing.
Blacked out details unnecessarily smothered.
A ruined illusion of caring for something.

Everyone has their struggles and their mountains to climb and it sometimes seem like I'll never reach the top of mine
And yet there are moments of rest and solitude where I'm able to look back
and see where I have been.
Look back and see the beauty of the valley.

The funny thing about looking out upon these valleys is that while they in their full form are magnificent,
when you get down to details,
it's flawed.
There are cracks in the pavement,
broken street lamps,
and cracks in the foundations of every home, though seemingly small.

You get a different perspective of life looking back.
Like they say,
hind sight is 20/20.
But still there is an overall beauty.
The fact that you created that all.
The fact that even the small seemingly insignificant moments have made lasting chances to where you are now on the uphill climb to the top of your mountain.
My peaks is far ahead of me,
but I'm further up than when I started.
I've gained greater insight as to what has caused the problems,
the slips on the trail that pushed me back a little

It's as if we're climbing
over mountains,
except by some cruel trick
we trek along the fault line
rather than across
and as we crest each painful saddle
there is no choice
but to slide back down the other side,
blistered, limping, starved,
and carrying too much weight,
hoping the next peak
will be the last.

Except,
it's nothing like climbing mountains,
for at least in the mountains
I can breathe.

My dreams have spoken deep,
Wicked I weep,
For my sorrow is surreal,
In the dark shadows I feel,
Stuck within eternity's turning wheel.
I run into the mist,
Growing wings like Willow I insist.
Riding the winds together,
And flying through stormy weather,
Dressed in nothing more than feather.
Reaching the mountains,
In thunder our tale is growling.
We dance upon the green,
Forgotten we must see,
That this is where we've already been.
Silently reality whispers,
Wake up from this madness,
There is no time for sadness.
For in labor you must bleed,
To fulfill your hungers need,
And pay of fake pupeteers.
This frail trail I will walk,
Untill my haunting green dreams can talk.
Staring upon the flames,
Your call still remains,
Upon the midnight stars I wish,
For you to grand me this scacered rich.
Untill that time,
I will earn the dime,
To pay for this human crime.