You are like a mountain; not a
sublime snow capped mountain in
Colorado, or like the Cerro Torre in
Argentina and Chili.
Definitely not like
the Ama Dablam in Nepal.
But you seem like a
mountain none the less.
A mountain that obscures
the beauty of the
majestic sunrise,
and the grandeur of life.
A mountain that
smothers love and
everything glorious.
Maybe you aren't
a mountain at all.
Perhaps you're an
ant hill, dragging
dead souls into
your busy hole.
I climbed you, and
was so enamored with
your beauty, I missed
your charade and
masquerade.