#mountwellington — Public Fediverse posts

searching for dynamite

Distillery of words,
Pierces cloud with shrub and rock.
Thin air, unending stare,
Towers over city square,
Infinite against the clock.

Each step a trespass-
A risk for perfect rhyme.
A search, of sorts,
Of forest and thoughts,
Which thicken as I climb.

The cold, and sweat, and rain endured
Remind me that I live.
With body bent
And daylight spent,
I still have more to give.

Ascend and breath and think aloud,
And lean from tallest tree-
Inhale the pages
While speak, do the ages,
And lightning strikes at thee.

Returning, as the darkness falls
And weary, sit to write.
The closing day, with me does stay,
Yet nothing do I have to say
Of views or mountain's height.

Did I not learn upon my hike?
Did I, perhaps, just fail to see
What others claim the Alpine air
And contemplative wildlife stare
Permits with crisp identity.

I found, without great celebration,
The thing that often shines so clear:
intentions, good or bad, mean naught,
As always comes recurring thought;
I simply need a beer.

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