by Mountain Poet
The close of night
over freshly fallen snow.
The heavens have released
the moisture and the wind,
upon a thirsty earth.
The trees drink up their need.
A community lays quiet
under the change
of seasons, and waits
to be delivered,
by the Sun and their desire
to be made whole.
The fragments break apart
like glacial packs of ice.
They come off the mountain
hard and cold.
At the bottom lies the lake
that will fill up, and rise.
Or dry up into dust
and brittle bones.
The shadows move and draw
to those that have
a hunger for the dark.
A negative need impossible
to fulfill and put to death.
It is restless and insatiable
for that which is less and weak.
Through the clouds
a Ray of Light,
beams down a purpose
and a right.
We are left at the crossroads
of good versus evil, and which path
we take leaves behind the prints
of our deepest need.
The direction we choose
makes the difference,
in how we finish our quest.
Face up looking into the stars,
or down into quick sand and mud.
Our fears are easily realized,
if we give them the license and freedom
to feed on our hearts and mind.
The mystics teach a process
to turn darkness into light.
The alchemical transmutation
of solitude and stone.
Walk with that which is greater
than the human refusal to stand,
against disparity and depression.
Take no more than you need,
and give the best that you have
every step of the way.
Our reward may not come
until some distant point.
The concern of the soul
is to manifest a destiny
that is rite. Complete
the process in the blazing
sphere of Heaven’s Light.
We are mortal and not given
to know how to
put this confusion to rest.
We strive and yet we feel
the strangling vine,
of weeds and barren land.
Our Castles fall on
shifting sand.
We go home and wonder
what went wrong.
when we lay down,
our slumber wearies us
even more as the dream unfolds.
How will we find the time?
The dream fades easily
under the harsh reality,
of each day’s duties and schemes.
Take my hand and I
will lead you where
you have not been.
I am guided by your voice,
and that look in your eye.
You are full of sadness
and hope. We cannot see
ourselves as well as others
see us. Because we have grown
to use to our bodies,
and who we have been.
If we speak encouragement
and not what feeds the
anger and the hate,
then we may at the last
turn be heard.
Because the angels listen
for a certain sound,
both clear and true.
The ancient text spells out
one word – Peace.
Participate, and you will
reach not just that
which you need.
A miracle much greater
than you expected
to be given, or believed.
It is through the language
of the heart that we hear,
what we need to set us free.
Together, one by one
the texture changes.
The puzzle gets put together
in colours that belong,
because they fit
and fill the void.
The picture is beautiful,
as the pieces that make
each vision real.
Listen please, to the rain
and its need to wash us
clean and unafraid.
The sun waits,
behind the clouds.
Soft and silver-lined,
you may rise
to touch them.
Look within and you will find
what it is you seek.
After the storm,
the rainbow breaks.
I send you this,
wishing you some small comfort
and love.
***
- Mountain Poet
EPA - Environmental Poetic Advisement Journal 1991
Photo: Rain Room, Photographer Unknown
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