Pulling up mountains,
yellow and sticky
the ground, in agony, screeches
scratching towards its' new child.
the sky will glow around it,
and the wind will eat it down
and I will climb, for longer days in colder
vertical worlds.
I turn up and down,
and when the mountain birds fly over
I live, and remember
My Side of the Mountain.
To think of tree life
and the quiet strength of the tree's living
I can quell the pace
of my evolution and my blood.
No comments:
Post a Comment