"With the Mountains"
With the mountains I cannot say, I listen to the horses stride behind the great red rocks, frightened from the cruel and unreal cliffs that lip at my feet, with a breath of disorder, an image returns to me, how can I make this cowardly approach seem slightly bold, except for my smirk which cracks like ice, I keep my understanding so I can relate to the sun's golden rise, a magical lantern in the chamber of the universe, its veins of fire attacking these cliffs, with the mountains I cannot say that age is green in the fiddler's garden, twisting and endless as it focuses on afflicting youth anyone can fill the coffin to depart from remembrance, to escape existence, assured that the fiddler will drawl from the silence, with the mountains, time is held on a mantle piece, tombstones sweeping the days we live, pouring the frost of death on our names, while into devilish windows we looked, like secret children we sat and quitely feared each other, and the sensual question of what is real, with the mountains I cannot say, how over time we scaled our sorrows, how we escaped those youthful desires andfires, the streams of discussion still virgin and soft, and how as children we laughed and fought our colors distinct like jewels and our lovers, still in need to embrace our fathers and mothers and with the mountains I cannot remain, with the word of man a syllable slumber, where our glistening thoughts are slowly pulled under, where madness strides and the mountains reside.
Matthew Grabowski
Copyright ©2008 MatthewGrabowski
('With the Mountains' was published in the National Library of Poetry's Immortal Verses Series(released Winter of 2006)
