Days I have sought before;
where dirt would pour between young fingers
to take delight in what will come to ruin.
Now no longer do I seek
rather gain, gather, and always look
beyond what the dirty words of 'good' 'bad', 'strong' 'weak'.
A Sunday sun once called my name as
its heavy hand carved Aztec faces into rock walls in front of my face.
I sat to watch and when fixing my gaze at once my mind fled;
left only with the world before me.
The mountainside where all I knew rested
was breathing heavily and its mane
showed signs of the Robbins-egg sky.
Past the branches which have bent before wind and snow,
hazy light flickered between valleys where no body
could be made seen by towering beauty.
Too much to see for a young mind just yet,
I then turned to the ground.
Yet again was the mountain too much with me.
Ferns and rocks all cried of their tales and
danced in their natural sublime delights.
What had taken place amongst the dirt
showed me as many of my own wondrous tears
as the view over one hundred forests.
After many hours spent with my feet against rocks,
it was time to descend the mountain
(the sun blushed with purple and took the clouds with it).
Emerging from the earthen towers I took a look over my shoulder
to see what I was to leave behind.
No more days will I spend eyes closed.
No to only touching the ground.
Only listening to the birds will leave one wanting.
Only speaking will never leave one satisfied.
So with the mountain in mind,
I will walk with my self open and flowing like a river.
Into the woods of joy, hermitage of present experience I go,
holding the hand of all that is my world and the one
I have yet to know.