The Old Man On the Mountain
An old man on a mountain
In parched soil on a blotted page intact
Through a store window we see a painting
Within timeless quiver of chatter of days gone by
Mark the one who is willing to explore,
From its setting sun enhanced within its vanquished plot
Within climatic pitched fervent reaction
A soul in latent derision even pressed for action
Gone are the days in swift desolation;
Betrayal in the innocence of man
An old man on the mountain once again looking down,
Overhead as an eagle soars to parts unknown;
Looking for gold with a heart asunder,
Is it any wonder the fields were green to provide sustenance
People need help not hurt
Use your inner wit to amuse never to abuse
Through its timely excerpts we can choose;
Yet an old man on a mountain looks down
Very often hanging his fragile head to the ground
Such as in a bird of prey flying in a humble display;
Although for the moment we learn to reflect & pray
Many as of late choose for it to not be that way
As columns filled with myraid branches tend to wither in desolation
There still sits an old man a top the mountain
Within colors filled with sore vex display
Leaving the old man breathless without one single word to say.
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