He who learns must suffer, and, even in our sleep, pain that we cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God. - Aeschylus

Sunday, January 31, 2016

The Weeping Mountain: Part II

This poem was written on the occasion of the anniversary of my grandfather's death.

The Weeping Mountain

The mountain stands silently through the night,
teardrops shimmering before daybreak's light.
The grass glimmers under the condensed drops,
dewfall landing gently around bright crops.

The mountain stands firm underneath my boots,
topsoil and rock supporting the strong roots.
The grass is springing back after my stride,
footfalls lifting me up the steep hillside.

The mountain holds up the heavy gravestone,
raindrops sprinkling me while I stand alone.
The grass is shining with tears from heaven,
rainfall making the hard ground uneven.

The mountain roars with the sound of a creek,
floodwaters rushing down the scraggly peak.
The grass is growing from the water's race,
waterfalls tumbling down the mountain's face.

Note:  I wrote this poem based on visits to my grandfather's grave in the early morning and late evening.  The lyrical structures are pretty standard: end rhyme, start rhyme, alliteration, etc.  Photo credit goes to me.

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