The Peak’s Poem

We all get caught in the trees don’t we? Like webs pulling us back on our laurels, bouncing us up and out and down and out till all we got is to get out of this mess. Man, who knows, who freaking knows where we ought to

be?

Then there is this place, peering out over the long rolling Hills, wondering where they go if they go anywhere and if not, I’m not sure I care.

Can’t we, can’t we just walk. Can’t we just step, one little piggy in front of another, and see what lies on the other side of that there hill. Let slip, my friends, cry havoc at least, move those feet, stop waiting. Stop lingering in self doubt and pity, Man I can’t even lie, everything in me, just watches life pass by:

Always hoping, wishing,

and wishy washing all the

little

things that don’t matter.

But then I catch a glimpse,

I see it, even if it’s for a second.

I stand there, on some nth degree slope,

looking out over battle fields, and tors and people and sheep and

lives, and green, green, green and

I can’t help it,

I feel God.

Like warm mashed potatoes, from the tippy top of my crown all the way to that little toe. It smacks, me, in the chest. It sinks in, and stays, you’d think for a moment, maybe death was lingering, waiting to dial your number, but no, it seems, life, just lingers there in them there hills,

life.

Breath… it… in…

life.

My friend, look… Just… stop…

wait…

look.

In this day and age we are so connected, I

love

it, but it wastes away the finer functions of my moral calamity.

I swipe, like, check, tick, tock and block, unfriend, bend, no and yes. But then, then there is this place.

This place.

Long grass, like

King’s grace,

ev…ery…where. Everywhere!

Just waiting to tickle the sin right out of you.

It’s like long strolls through Elysium, granulated sepia hands in over ripe wheat. With a bit of Zimmer for good measure.

Then the peaks, the glorious fists of the very earth reaching up in worship.

The green, providing, for every little thing that calls this place home.

Contrast, set against contrast. Blue skies, wind whipped mounds.

Silence, internal voices muttering a million miles an hour.

It’s here, in this place like many others, creation crying out the truth behind it all. And there is a simple invitation, that we should heed no matter where we are; mountains, fields, seas or cities.

Stop.

Look.

Breathe.

Enjoy.

__________________________________________________________________________

If you would like to hear the audio of me reading the poem here it is.

Peak’s Poem Audio

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