Mountains, Where Have They Gone?

I live in Denver, a mile high, but still so far from the mountains that drew me here.

 

The coolness of color, blue in the distance

Mystic, inviting, clouded sky around mountains.

Is there a fresh breeze filled with rain essence

Dampening the pedals of alpine wild flowers?

Winding through the high valley aspen trees

The stream accepting raindrops, countless

Drips from branch to branch through leaves.

Bluebirds sing sheltered in their bowers.

Moist, verdant velvet moss grows round

Boulders sank deep into the ground.

 

In the bowels of the city, heat shimmers,

Traveling across the concrete walks

To attack and wilt the starched shirts.

Sitting under the yellow tipped leaves

Listless ones with no hope’s glimmer.

Blackberry their preferred mode of talk

Snapping open, closed, rings never shirked.

Conversations are shorthand, hurried and brief,

Deals to close, reputations to ruin or to build.

Behind tall buildings, the mountains stand, concealed.

 

The lunch hour ends and the rush begins

To enter tall buildings, there is more work to do.

Answers are needed for the question

Of where the mountains have all gone to.

Reviews

[Lydia]

This is amazingly beautiful. Your imagery is astounding, and, as one who is a city dweller in search of those mountains, I have a deep appreciation for this poem's theme. It reminds me of John Denver, and that makes me enjoy this even more. :D

Great write.