The face comes again to me; <br />Serene, sacred granite, cracked and cragged, <br />Of unforgiving beauty, wrapped in humorless mist, <br />Highlighted by a heavenly, combed beam <br />That splays through clouds, a holy azimuth, <br />Granting quiet grace. <br />This face, turned away to the north, <br />Laughing, deadly, mute, and eloquent, <br />Challenges and beckons, <br />Stares pitilessly waiting <br />With standards that are not negotiable. <br />It has learned my name <br />But speaks of me with disdain, <br />In the third person, <br />Asking who shall yield, <br />Who shall accept that yielding, <br />While fear, like a floater, crosses my vision, <br />Drifting slowly, then snapping back <br />Into the corner of my eye. <br /> <br />This holy, stern, immobile face, <br />Stationary stalker, blind voyeur, <br />Warns and summons me with a tremor: <br />“Make no mistake...make no mistake.” <br />So today I gather cams and crabs, hooks and harnesses <br />To march tomorrow in the dark to its foot <br />And then ascend, scrambling boulder to boulder <br />To the chin of this face, to clean-climb this profile <br />Using the weathered cracks and crags <br />To lift myself across God’s brow <br />And answer this blank, threatening stare, <br />Seeing beyond its façade, into eternity.<br /><br />Gary Witt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-do-5-18/
