Altitude

The thinned air drifts through me.
Up on this mountain.
Where the pine trees and promises grow.
It’s such a long way down from here.
That great expanse below, the past and a world without you.
I hold a thought, like I hold you in my arms.
Carefully, and cautiously.
Smothered in love.
A little drop of wonder which coats my mind.
That thought of joy breaking out of a dream.
Solidifying into my snowy reality.
Up here on the mountain.
I follow your path, and watch you watch the world from here.
Counting the moments we have and your eyelashes when you sleep.
Holding down the universe for you.
Yet when the distant thunder rumbles, shaking what we have built.
I confess, my heart trembles.
The snow turns black, and in my dreams fear tumbles our love.
Crumbling, like a plane into a skyscraper.
Covering the land with dust and sadness.
But this thunder does not last.
Quickly it is banished to the darkest parts of sleep.
For now I wake and walk the mountain, inside this wakened dream.
Collecting all of you, like fallen leaves from the trees.
Keeping them in my pocket.
Up here, on our mountain which grows further from the sea.
Raising up to meet god and pierce into heaven.

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Extirpate>Amalgamate

Stand in the middle of the wreckage.
The galaxy of regrets wash at your feet.
All open fields.
The tidal pull within you, feasting on black waves of idealism.
You bring your dreams to god.
Such food for a hungry beast.
The wind washes away, the dirt and decay of mountainous failure.
And who really cared. Who really cried over forgotten chances?
The road just diverged.
You detoured to this place where you can feel the grass under your feet.
Grounded.
Predisposed to deletion, to erase what was the stain and the dirt.
Such grand destructions.
But now it lies, bleached into your eyes.
Hung up in the gallery of your life.
And we now admire, devouring the stories of your past.
All parts that assimilated to the messiah of the meadow.
Here. Now. Living, breathing.
Being.

Lost in Tibetan snow

Winter tickled at his heart.
He found the snow of a thousand years cover his feet while he slept;
in the glowing dreams of a Himalayan moon.
Rambling across a dreamscape that promised much change.
The little links in a chain of the forgotten.
He shed his skin like the leaves.
Floated away to liquid and a utopia on the back of a comet.
His mind hardened by the rocks he pulled from his stomach.
The teeth of the terrible that fell away like empty bottles.
Pooling in his soul.
If you care to look, you may find him.
Casting shadows on the moon while the wind breaks.
Peering into your head while the dreams suspended you.
Eating on the decay of your heart, as the world turns.
He was never one for this earth.
Which is why he does not cry when it crumbles.

Tears of the Gods

His heart, now the colour of his wife. Broke apart.
The urn smashed, scattering them both across the clouds.
As the volcanoes rumbled and the gods groaned.
Down they both came in the rains.
Licked up by the wood spirits and the humans below.
Pooling in the heart of the world, flecks of life;
and the cast down tears from Olympus.