thoughts on mountains

traipsing on paths from earth itself

day provides a gleam of hope

the sun it struck right on the cross

breathing words through skin and bone

i see the structure lie before me

ominous and particular in shape, style and matter

what i know as words permeate my mind

and exit through permanent wounds

i pulled up beside that cross

made of wood and nail

i saw the faces of generations ago

i saw pity, hate and hope

sitting down beyond the trees

staring at the grave

i realised that it wasnt day

it was night, all my own

in the split of a second

i morphed from random traveller

to experienced philosopher

if i had written the waves down

I too could have been a saint

instead i sat and watched

till the sky turned grey and cold

i slaked my thirst

and stretched my veins

but the cross still remained

perplexed i looked up to the heavens

which apparently you are meant to do

i saw no heaven or tongues of flame

delivering a message worthy of a King

still i could not look away

then i realised why

what caught my attention

was the beautiful night sky