The Quester
The valley's call is louder
than the mountain's peak.
I fall.
Fell halfway from the stairway to heaven.
Here in the realm of the fallen are supple lilies swaying in the evening breeze
like ballet dancers.
Its springs knows how seductive
to whisper my name.
Her healing fragrance
like mother's damp wrapper
promising to heal my wounds
leaving no scars behind that haunts.
The mount stands unmoved
by my flood of tears
like a child failing to climb up
its mother's breast that will not let it.
Bleeding wounds grace my skin.
It must be bad blood seeping out
that makes one a wimp.
My aching body tangos
With desires
Desires priced by pain and ruins
Ruins of old self knowledge.
I roam in my thought
lost in its endless maze.
No one finds you here.
I return somehow to the bewitching vale robed with greenery
like Flora grooms it.
Its been ages I slept on a thornless bed in the name of passion.
I fall on broken knees.
''Its no use" I muse.
"I have tried"
Somehow, I knew I lied.
I sigh, my eyes
etherwards
Without more words.
Gazing one more time
at the mount behind
My callous fingers uproots
A lily
Whose flower vase is the skull
I believed to be brother's who slept here like I want to.
The enchantment breaks off me.
Eyes clear,
I surge towards the mountain
Like an enraged bull trampling over everything on my path already weedy.
Ever will remain my soul without rest till I conquer Everest.
I will never rest
till I conquer Everest
and on her breast
will I weave my nest
where I shall blow the shofar of conquest.
Copyright © Martins Deep | Year Posted 2018
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