In the cool fire blue of the new spring air,
I’m the king of all I see,
from atop my perch on the mountain here
above the highest trees.
In my hiker’s guise, anonymity,
to do as I so please,
with none about to raise a fuss
over what they just might see,
if they were so bold
to pull themselves up
above the trees with me.
They might see me laid out and smoking rope,
lounging in Noah’s forgotten sand.
They might see me with a world of hope
resting in the palm of my hand.
They might see my past come back to me
in the form of regretful tears.
They might see the battles I’ve waged
and how they’ve haunted me over the years.
They might hear me spouting the words of madmen,
one of whom I just might be.
They might hear me singing songs to Heaven
to which I’ll one day flee.
But then again, they might not see anything
but these same things inside of them;
they might lose their worldly disdain
in all they could see then.
They might learn size, both great and small,
and how they truly fit,
slip out of their pack, reach for the pipe,
and join me for a sit
in this forgotten sand on the mountain here
above the birds and trees.
Oh they might, yes they might;
though they’ve not, no they’ve not.
If they only knew
what they just might see.
In the mid-90s, I returned from Charlotte with my tail somewhat between my legs. I’d run from myself again, and it turned out that the only person there to meet me was the dude I was running from. I’ve learned that we don’t run from places, but ourselves, and we just can’t do that.
I ran to the Fayette County mountains for escape during that time, and I found that, while I still couldn’t escape myself, I was much more comfortable with the dude who greeted me.
Be well, my friends. Hoping you’re having a blessed weekend. Until soon.