Blue Ridge

The sun cascades across my skin

like a golden wind and warms

the spirit of my soul.

I could walk its rugged path a thousand times

and always find something new to love:

a forgotten smell,

a distant view,

or the vibrant color of its moss.

 

The enigmatic maze that is the mountain

becomes my church as I step upon its roots.

Its flowing grace lives within everything

around and rejeuvenates my faith.

Every drop that flows across its back

is another baptism for my soul.

I become the richest man alive as the

fields of jade and emeralds becomes min to reap;

I take only what I need to keep my

dream alive.

 

The whispers of the wind and

the rustle of the leaves

surround my ears like a lullaby

of mountain sound

while the language of nature

becomes a part of

my dialect.

 

My hourglass is set to stop, but every

grain I leave behind is a life worth living.

Memories of the mountain make

my time worthwhile.

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741