Poetry
Mountains. Men. Meaning.
Poetry Playground Writing Prompt #30
As the trees rise and fall to the morning breath
On that first flicker of sunlight
The hills heave a sigh of relief
Light catches the fluttering wings and bounces off the dew-kissed leaves
The bees have a purpose and the birds have a song
Ethereal is the beauty of the mountains
Hold on to that fleeting instant
Because, unlike the moment that passed, beauty is eternal
I have experienced many holiday destinations. But as far as I can remember, the mountains have always held a special place in my heart.
They are both beauty and beast.
In the heart of the earth, where the sky caresses the peaks and the winds whisper ancient secrets, the mountains stand as sentinels of time, embodying both stoic nature and surreal beauty.
Their stoic nature is evident in their unyielding presence.
Their faces, etched with the lines of eons, tell tales of endurance and resilience. Each crag and crevice is a testament to their steadfastness, standing tall against the relentless march of time.
The peaks, often kissed by the first light of dawn, glow with a golden hue.
The play of light and shadow across their rugged faces creates a tapestry of colours and textures, a visual symphony that changes with every passing moment.
The mist that often shrouds their summits adds an element of mystery as if these majestic heights are realms of the gods, cloaked in secrets waiting to be unveiled.
Despite this grandness, the mountains do not waver; they do not falter, they are all accepting.
This is what I find to be their most admirable quality and perhaps the one thing that somewhere deep within me sparks the greatest respect.
This is why for my friends and I, the mountains have always been the most sought-after refuge.
A place of retreat and friendship.
A place where we can let go of our worldly burdens and unwind to the tunes of the morning songs.
In the realm where dark meets light,
We venture into the night.
A weekend’s quest, bonds so tight,
Years fold to moments of delight.
We’re wayfarers in time’s grand hall,
Where past and present blend and call.
Two decades vanish at this ball,
In laughter’s echo, worries fall.
In starlit whispers, secrets shared,
Each tale a tapestry we bared.
With every step, our spirits flared,
In timeless dance, our souls declared.
Beneath the moon’s soft, silvery grace,
We find our haven, our sacred place.
In boundless joy, we interlace,
A symphony of hearts, a shared embrace.
Our creed is simple, wild, and free,
A pact of jovial anarchy.
Through psychedelic dreams, we glide,
In camaraderie, we confide.
Thank you Jonny Masters for this week’s prompt. You continue to inspire.
Here are some more brilliant pieces of work I have recently encountered and loved.
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POTENS CALAMUM — WRITING IN THE SPIRIT OF THE POWERFUL PEN
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