Mountain

This poem was originally published at Everydaypoets.com on July 27th, 2009.

Mountain

Switzerland, mountains:
the beating of hoofs,
the charge of kings,
Hannibal and his men
their souls aflame with Aries’ fire; whilst
a Citroen carries my bored imagination through this –

a lone priest walks in silence. He carries through steep terrain, as penitence for man’s sins, a weighty burden, the word of God

– landscape of terrible immediacy and wonderful beauty –

a man alone, with scarce the knowledge of what lies beyond, faces sheer cliffs of stone with naught but his hands and their creations; what gall it took, what gall it takes, the first time?

– now appropriated by tourists.

An idyllic village with thatched roofs and stone chimneys surrounds a clockfaced steeple church. The smells and sounds of home, family, friends and food waft to the nearby hills where a traveler lies, his legs buried by rocks, but his mind free to rejoice in the continuance of all he has and ever will know.