The Mountains

 

They are the most ancient of Earth's kings

With reigns that span millions of cycles, shifting

Their colossal thrones and towers overlook the plains,

guarding valleys, and our fragile, shimmering civilizations

Silent, inspiring, witnesses to our triumphs, and sorrows

Particles eddy, wind and alluvion crash against them

Despite temporal fates, they rise strong amid tragic floods

Tectonic fortifications shaped by the hands of rivers, and seas

Deep in their vaults of quarry, ore, and inner consciousness

they safeguard humanity's myriad of memories

carved in their rock, grown into the trees,

forgiven and renewed in the snow

The mountains also remind me of a father when I was a child.

Surging hills and ridges, ever so patient, are secure arms,

and the yawning cliffs, and slopes, are giant knees resting.

They would tell you a story: yours, and that of the world.

They would share the faith by which they were forged

Majestic lords of peace, and unshakable authority

Nothing can harm you with this power watching over you

Not the transition of genesis, cataclysms, and sunsets.

Even in this modern era the mountains remain steadfast,

their granite walls hide and protect paradisaical wilderness,

groves and meadows sheltering knowledge preceding mind,

truths spoken by the wind, guided through lonely passes,

trees, sighing praises that symphonize into infinity

Mountains are where Earth's highest echelons merge into the sky

and one is uplifted and transported into and beyond the blue

awakening visions of what we have always sought