I stood in tight chested forbodeing <br />at the hem of your heathered dress <br />long years on from when <br />you did your best to kill me. <br />I brought a garland of bright memories <br />of the years between then and now to show you <br />See here my son is born, there his graduation <br />the continuing song of the life you held to ransom <br />for three long cold and painful days. <br />In spite of your dark wrath, I am, still. <br />Now in sunlight once again your beauty belies <br />the icy wet stilettos neath your dress <br />the dark shroud with which in seconds <br />you ensnare those who you select. <br />Standing in tight breathlessness upon your crown <br />The backpack of years weighing heavy <br />I see the rocks where once I lay broken <br />from one sunrise to another dawn <br />for an instant again, death's icy hand upon my heart <br />then in rain and fading light I descend your flank <br />the memory of a nightly kiss upon a deep shoulder scar <br />given I know, in thanksgiving for my life. <br />I see your own brown scar, a road cut deep into your side <br />You are nolonger the mountains you were back then <br />and I am nolonger the man I was. <br />I suddenly feel that thought I lived inspite of you <br />I am who I am because of you, <br />perhaps we are even Now, mountain.<br /><br />Bill Mitton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-black-mountain-brecon-an-old-adversary/
