The Mountain Moves in You [a poem]
You entreated the mountain to yieldβ
to unfurl its edges,
to cleave a gentler way.
But the stone held firm,
aloof in its stillness.
Yet you climbed.
Continue reading “The Mountain Moves in You [a poem]”
You entreated the mountain to yieldβ
to unfurl its edges,
to cleave a gentler way.
But the stone held firm,
aloof in its stillness.
Yet you climbed.
Continue reading “The Mountain Moves in You [a poem]”
The fire did not burn you down.
Though it arrived without warningβ
swift, unrelenting,
devouring the edges of what once seemed enduringβ
still, you remained.
Not untouched.
Not inviolate.
But whole, in a way the flames could never unmake.
You did not vanish beneath the ruin.
You were refined within it.
On the days that hurtβ
when the body speaks in softened ache,
and each breath arrives
like a delicate task performed in shadowβ
let this be enough.
Let it be enough
that you woke to the turning of light,
even if it did not reach you.
Let it be enough
that you stayed,
though the hours unfolded slowly,
without welcome or ease.
You have come this farβ
not untouched by sorrow, nor spared by silence,
but through nights that emptied you of light
and mornings that arrived without promise.
You crossed thresholds no one witnessed,
gathering your breath as one gathers embers,
guarding the flame with hands that trembled
yet refused to let it die.