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


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