Mountain Path
Lain carved into the mountainside,
Spiralling its way, through the mist,
A path no more than a meter wide,
Like the fading notes of Liszt.
An eagle circles, her chicks cried;
If I should fall, no one to assist.
Fleet foot,
Cloaked hood;
I scale without remorse.
Magical aetites stone,
Awaits for me, of course.
I intone a spell, by the grand ravine.
I stutter a prayer, with all my spleen.
There is something beyond,
What the low-land folk speak.
It revolves all around
A heavily shrouded peak.
The world goes on; it doesn't care;
Oblivious to my hatchings of fate.
Rare sights, strange vistas; beware!
Fire and brimstone, avalanche hate.
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