A three legged man
Spine crinkled up
like a paper ball
Oh how tall he used to stand.
A leather whip, steeped
with time, his mind sits
On a rocking chair
Where light fades and shadows creep.
Let them creep! he says
Let my body wither
Let my mind dull
For so full I am of days!
Days of life and joy
And tears and sorrow,
Days that dare to sing
Like spring birds as snow melts away.
Hold tight to these days!
For they are the candle in your lap
Pushing back the shadows
Long after the sun has set.
The serenity that comes
From grit and sweat,
Mud
Caked on boot treads,
Muscles screaming
In opposition, heart
Whooping from joy and exertion,
Huffing
Like the moose that have
Roamed the land for eternity.
Walk the same paths
Of those past.
And yet,
As the wind rips the soul
Free of the body,
Soaring above with hawks and clouds,
This world becomes distinct,
Alone,
Desolate:
The way it was always meant to be.
To connect is a choice.
As the world sways
beneath tremoring feet,
it takes courage
to move forward.
But only then
the sky will break open,
revealing genuine wonders
that lay behind mist.
Snowflakes fall,
twisting and flowing
joining my mind
in the brisk,
frigid wind.
They land on my face,
we lay there together
spinning in circles
until life repents
and we move forward again.
People are like strings
plucked on a guitar:
little things,
set into motion
by an external force,
but continue to perform
long after it dissipates.
Each playing distinct,
beautiful notes
for as long as we can hold them.
As the petals drifted down
On this perfect day
So did the sunlight,
Peeking through the trees
Like an old friend
Coming back home
For the summer months
The leaves rustle
As the breeze flows
Across your skin
While our boots
Tromp over peaks and valleys
Your waves move us
Across your vastness
And your beauty moves us
To do better
All you do is give
And it is the least we can do
To say thank you.
The light catches you
As you fall, shimmering
Against the cool, hard rock.
The sound is deafening
And yet no less serene
Than a trickling stream
Gurgling down a hillside.
What else can balance
Such power and beauty
Into such a simple motion?
The adventurer is nothing
before they take a step
And before that,
they are merely pointing
Pointing towards what they could be
While keeping a head on a swivel
For where they have been
The unknown
Such a romantic term
So many seek for it
As the most evasive
Things always are
The unknown
Is catching fog in a bottle
Only to realize
You’re inside the jar
Shrouded in the very mist
You were trying to catch
The unknown
Is to take that first step
And refrain from peeking
Back to the past
To what is safe
That is truly what is hard
Camp 10 stands aloft;
A pinprick in comparison
To the kingdom of spires it surveys,
As Taku slumbers
The towers, the princess, the duke,
The emperor they protect.
While glacier king looms to the northwest,
Commanding a battalion of their own
They all sit upon the back of Taku.
Taku is alive.
Sighing breaths swirl downward,
A mountain of snow and ice on its back,
It lumbers along deep below.
But when they rear their head
The wind and rain rip like rapids
Gushing through the lowest valleys
Pounding the tallest ridges
The beast strains against their chains
The earth itself seeming to bend
This is the icefield at its most ruthless,
And most beautiful