Old Mountain
Cold is the snow, under my feet
Blades are the wind, at my skin
Cane is the object, guiding me through
Beauty is the hope, I will see
Rocks I grab, along my way
Fear is evident, in unending fall
Strength fills old bones, to push on
Ice blisters convert, my face to stone
A slip, I have no breath
The voice, has pulled me to
My cane bent, I make a step
Glory, is the situation
One final leap, amazed
Every mountain ever made, shines
Light combines with air, old eyes reflect
Stars shine, no restraint exists
This is the peak, beauty
Every color unknown, hangs in a misty cradle
My blued sight illuminates, I feel not but warmth
I grip the ice, and look on at god forever
Copyright © Justin Street | Year Posted 2010
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