Mountains

my mountain, a caricature caught in motion resembles
a silhouette simultaneously disappearing
as I walk forward,dreading to ever look back
my fear of high places keeps me from falling
into the hands of my enemy
this tall glass of reality leaks out forming cracks of pressure,
mastering my genocidical generation
with words of peneatration on how we relate or is
it to late..for our broken homes are these pieces of a puzzles
exibiting a background of struggles won and lost
are we the pawn or the kings?
in a backdrop era where colors are still in a box neatly
tied by the string we hang from
must i say let freedom ring? how free are we?
the tea party or the hari kari minority
cant i wash my hands an take no part in this?
guilty i stand when my voice is hushed
every second theres an injustice
a mountian rises to meet that occasion
and a shawdow engulfs all the many faces
encasing hopeless emotions that tear down
dreams daily.....