“I Cannot Ask the Mountain…”
(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

I cannot ask the mountain
To carry my burden
For it shoulders the
The cumbrous glacier
The forsaken tor
The desolate scree slope
It weeps already
At its heavy load
Remorseful streams
Of alpine tears
Flow into tarns of regret
Secret cirques of sorrow
Hidden in its granite heart

I cannot ask the forest
To assuage my fears
For it attends to
The capricious breeze
Gathers thoughtless birds
To empty nests
Shepherds hind and hart
To twilight copses
Shelters hares among
Sword fern shadows
Its vigilant whisper
An exhausted sigh
I must let it sleep

I cannot ask the meadow
To save my soul
For it is laid to rest
Its cacophony
Of summer essence
Drained of hue and humor
Unkempt autumnal whiskers
Of dried grasses and weeds
All that remain on its
Forgotten countenance
It has no voice left
To perform last rites
For a dying world
No solemn hymns
Drift from dusty lea
To offer salvation

I cannot ask the sky
To forgive my sins
For it cares not
The callous sun
The fickle moon
The incurious stars
Time itself
Oblivious to all
They are occupied
With eternity
Not the pedestrian pain
Of one lost soul
Standing on the edge
Of a clearing
On a random
Autumn evening
Watching the universe
Spin silently overhead
Through burning tears