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To Sara Gaffney-Gilbertson's previous piece

The Power is in Me

I have come across the mountain
lying lengthwise
on its side

five thousand feet gone
in one instant,
from youth
to helpless elder

simpering in wounded agony,
years have slid past

death whimpers
in the melt of snow
draining down its face.

Once the height of fear,
furious, terrifying creature,
I fought unending battles
caught in terror at its strength.

I would not bow to its power
I would not bow to misplaced judgment,
nor its fury,
hatred,
pain, agony, torture

I would not bow.
I would not bow.

The wind has moved with me,
changed its mood
after countless years
of sudden gales
and force fed turns.
It burrows angry frowns
through open mountain crevass
sweeps in and out with amazing speed
emerging as a tempered breeze
to where i stand
open eyed
calm faced
without tears,
I watch the mountain die.

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