The Mountain [version 4]
IN A MINUSCULE MOMENT OF TIME
THE MOUNTAINTOP
IS MINE
THE PETRICHOR
RISING FROM
THE DAMP EARTH'S FLOOR
IS LIKE AN AROMA
SOOTHING TO MY CORE
WHILE THE CONEFLOWERS
TEASE MY NOSTRILS
IN BLINDING BLOOMS
OF GOLD-
CHERISHED IS THIS SOLITUDE
FOR I HAVE GROWN
QUITE OLD
VICISSITUDES OF MY VIEW
SLOWLY CHANGE INTO LAYERS OF
SOFT VIOLETS
AND FLOWING BLUES
AND THE FROTH OF THE DAY FINALLY ELOPES
INTO THE CANOPY OF STARS
WHERE A RED MOON
BEAMS DOWN
ON THE CRACKS
OF COLD STONE
AND THE CLOUDS
ARE RIMMED
WITH PEARLS OF HOPE
WHERE SOON THE ANCIENT RAINS PREVAIL
CLEANSING THE
MOUNTAIN AND THE VALE
I HEAR THE SPIRIT
WHILE THE NIGHT WHISPERS
ITS NATURE'S NOCTURNAL SOLILOQUY
PRODDING THE FUTURE
NOT YET COMPLETE
IN GERMANATION
OF FERTILE DREAMS
OF WHAT COULD BE
FROM WHAT NEVER WAS
THE DISCOVERY
OF GOD'S LOVE
AND LIFE'S FINALITY
IS ONLY JUST
A MINUSCULE MOMENT
OF
TIME
WHERE SOME SEEK ETERNITY
AND SOME SEEK THE SHRINE
AS I INHALE "YAH"
AND EXHALE "WEH"
GOD IS INDEED
MY LIFE BREATH
THE MOUNTAIN
MY SANCTUARY
Poetry by Clara Mae Gregory
Written on 2026-09-10 at 05:21
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