I am the Mountain
I am the Mountain.
Old as pain,
Young as time.
Enduring strength
Branded into my soul.
My heart is infinite.
My pain intense.
Giving birth to myself
Ad infinitum.
I am the Mountain.
Birthed in violence
With shattered screams;
Popping, splitting cracks.
The seas glowed red.
Father burning.
Mother freezing.
Steam thrusting.
Birth canals gushing.
Writhing creation.
I am the Mountain.
In love with the Sky.
The glorious Sky I can’t touch.
For millennia I have known him.
The touch of the ages.
Strong and gentle.
Carrying me away.
When did he find my heart?
When swirling winds lifted me?
He took my heart, left a shell.
I am the Mountain
The backbone of the ages.
Yell at me again and again.
“You’re a fool! Stupid idiot!
The Mountain can’t love the Sky.
The Sky isn’t built that way.”
I am the Mountain.
And I know. Believe me, I know.
My heart soars and disappears.
My body and my strength remain.
I’ll gladly give that to him, too.
Since my heart is gone.
I am the Mountain.
Old as pain,
Young as time.
Enduring strength
Branded into my soul.
My heart is infinite.
My pain intense.
Giving birth to myself
Ad infinitum.
Prisoner of Red
My own personal seventh level.
I’m a captive. Prisoner of the Red.
Chained, tortured, threatened, beaten.
Soldiers of the Red with white bay’nets
Idly sit by and taunt me with their
Mocking indifference to fragile life
Struggling through delicately hewn walls.
How patiently, eagerly they carve.
I cover my ears, moan privately.
I bend over, puking with the pain.
Silently wishing it was diff’rent.
Ahhh, morphine relief, for the moment.
The fear and the pain recedes and hides.
Stupid grinning and frantic respite.
Euphoria IS the gift of the gods.
But only for the night. The sun comes
Up at the same moment tomorrow.
There is no escape for me. Never.
Hopelessness has learned to comfort me.
I wake suddenly, weeping loudly.
I hear Red in my sleep. Taunting me.
How I hate Sustiva dreams of hell.
Kidney stones of senseless tort’rous pain
I am your enemy. Don’t touch me.
Don’t love me. Don’t comfort me.
My redemption depends on distance.
Your distance from Prisoner of Red.
Reflections of Grace
Sitting alone. Wondering. Looking.
The candles of my soul burn gently.
My time is near, it seems.
Those that go before hover.
I am not ready.
Crying alone. Murmuring. Hiding.
The failures of my heart overpower brightly.
My time is near, it seems.
Those that go before offer.
I am not ready.
Laughing alone. Hiccuping. Calling.
The voices of my soul comfort soothingly.
My time is near, it seems.
Those that go before beckon.
I am not ready.
Hoping alone. Praying. Meditating.
The whispers of my heart call frantically.
My time is near, it seems.
Those that go before surround.
I am not ready.
Searching alone. Demanding. Losing.
The visions of my soul surround the pain.
My time is near, it seems.
Those that go before whisper.
I am not ready.
Listening alone. Seeing. Answering.
The truths of my being reflect Grace.
My time is near, it seems.
Those that go before see.
Maybe I am ready.
Preparing alone. Touching. Journeying.
The reflections of my being touch Divinity.
My time is near, it seems.
Those that go before understand.
I am ready.
Ready to see my reflections of grace.
There is a man who stands on a ledge of a mountain above my home. He stands upright, straight and strong. He has medium length brown hair and green eyes with pale skin. A strong chin. If you look closely, you can see that his hairline has begun the inevitable journey of age. The strong shoulders, powerful arms and sleek chest speak of an adventurous life lived. The humor in his eyes catches friends off guard. His smile is slightly crooked and filled with the vitality of his wisdom and compassion. His hands are large, gentle and caring. His legs resemble oak trees powerfully connected to the earth.
I often watch him from the living room window of my soul, measuring myself against him. Wondering. Thinking. Loving?
NO.
Respecting. Wishing.
no.
Sighing.
Sobbing.
Some days I reach out to him. I offer a cup of coffee, homemade food, the compassion? of my soul, gifts of spirit, salves for wounds of spirit and body, wisdom gleaned through ages of hardship and rejection, living and dieing, acceptance and hoping, innocence (ha) and cynicism. Simply given, expecting nothing in return. Hoping?
Maybe.
I stumble as his gentle and boisterous smile is directed at me. For a blessed moment, my soul knits together, the bleeding of my heart slows. Unbelievingly, I look behind me to see if he’s really looking at me. Nobody behind me. Nobody to the side of me. Just him in front of me. Smiling. Caring. Loving?
Really?
No.
Yes.
Stumble.
Catch.
I Go On
Eyes close ... sun and moon unite
... darkness looms ... salvation cries ... man ... woman ... gay ...
straight ... female ... addict ... warrior ... friend ... lover ...
potential ... choices ...
help ... smoke swirls ... air ... freedom ... water ... healing ... freedom ... pain ...
creative juices ... failure ... holding ... conjure ... magic .. Goddess ... He ... She ...
help ... smoke swirls ... air ... freedom ... water ... healing ... freedom ... pain ...
creative juices ... failure ... holding ... conjure ... magic .. Goddess ... He ... She ...
Me.
I go on.
and on ...