High
And mighty
Are the mountains.
As they reach
The sky, their zeniths
Challenge the stars and heavens,
infiltrating the vast expanse of mist and
clouds sitting in watch for daybreak. Unaffected
they stand as the sky ignites each morning and evening
and dies in a haze of purple and navy when the sun goes to sleep.
The winds cower to them As if they are ramparts of stone, fortresses born of
splitting crust and shaking, flaming earth. Even the most robust of trees refuse
to climb their heights, as little can settle and survive in view
of comfort and warmth below, where great rivers
flee their terror and bitter cold,
pulled down to the surface
by gravity.
