I send myself to the top of the mountain
Treading the soft brown path with hungry feet
Who savor each pebble in its ancient earthy decadence
The target peak juts out like a rescuing arm
Surveying and sighing contentment over the valley
It is here I halt my driven march and fill both lungs
With the ocean of early morning blue and foam
Stretching its arms and yawning into waking
In similitude I too throw my limbs wide
Open my chest to the new surge of living
A lover of the light am I, in truth
A lover of the life in my own winding veins
And the freedom of this cannot be taken
By any number of good or bad intentions
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