Out of the Fog

Atop this mountain, just under its peak, Fast falling emptiness on either side this ridge sleek, I stand and gaze in awe at the plains so vast. Teetering in these open heights I am content at last. The breeze weaves gently through my hair As my skin is traced softly by the same perfect air. Stepping surely, swiftly straight back down the spine, Retreating enough to find a new branch I might claim as mine. Climbing along these narrow ways Jolts me to life; pulls me out of my haze. Feeling a new vitality flooding my lungs As I scale these mountains as if they had rungs, I remember a life forgotten long ago Where joyous electricity had freedom to flow. My heart flying high, soaring beyond cloud nine, As I look down from my perch at the tops of pines. I am finally able with joy to engage, Since they've briefly let me out of my cage. With the time remaining I'll go for one last jog, To enjoy what will be memories only, after plunging back into the fog.