The summits of the Pride Mountains
are so high that they could not
be conquered. Glorious to the eyes
but tiresome to caring hearts.
And the trails to the Valley
of Compassion are now long
forgotten. It seems we’re entrapped
in a war zone you call Ambition.
Deep, deep within the crying souls
and wounded feelings, scorching
the lava flows of hatred further energizes
the anger within. Incensed impulses rule,
brushing tact and cautious thoughts
aside. Temperatures of words soar
to the heavens, blackened clouds
of senseless rebukes and rebuttals drop
like corrosive rains laden with ashes
of incinerated friendships. Yes, friendships –
once upon a youthful day.
Each wag of one sharp tongue, explosion
of a pen, and press on the keyboard
strikes down the last standing bits of care
and bittersweet memories – Oh! There were! –
of togetherness. The rolling clouds of acid words
and thoughts rush to finish off every sense of reason,
every pixel of journaled, shared, rosy season
of companionships past, of picnics by the pond
of some black or green mountain, of dips in a cool,
crystalline river as it hums lullabies of soothing
bubble and pebble chimes. Yes, once upon a time,
real time, not myth . . . not distant.
And one can only hope for restored sanities
after all that dust has settled to the desperate ground.
When all that remains are sighs of requiem, mournful taps,
In memory of burned bridges,
of broken friendships –
Let us pause for a moment of silence.
