Mountain Trail

It’s a private affliction, a flagrant

plague, harassing minds.

In its absence, I ponder, listening

for a distant voice. It’s

so purely esoteric, discovered in

experience. I smile to

aid a conscious, euphonic in

whispers, where the many

nurtures the one, and the one touches

the many. I ponder

sin, its mystery, where

conscience-fervor unlocks a fortress.

Meet it in a thought, ever a

vibration, followed by

illumination. I met her young,

dancing spirit, a fulcrum of

many. She caused minds to wend

and gather pearls, ever

in meditation. What is this glow,

hiding from a mirror,

perceived by the many? It’s a

mental saunter, the ink of

pages, a luminous outlook. We

journey forever, born from

journey, rekindled, embarking upon

further journey. How

often have we met, hearing and

listening, familiar with life?

We were once so intimate,

thunderstorms, tearing through a

galaxy. Our faces bear trouble, even

light and knowhow.