PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The mountain knows me better than most people do.

Down here, I am misplaced, overlooked;

But up there, even the thick fog settles against my warm skin,

And the wet grass soaks through my socks without asking.

I climb without needing to explain myself,

Not to conquer the peak nor to prove my strength,

But to feel the ground answer back,

Dirt pressing through my rubber soles,

Each misstep reminding me to stay rooted.

The rugged trail, slick with mud, guides me,

Stubborn soil clinging to my leather boots,

While the sheltering trees observe quietly,

Their shadows brushing against my tired shoulders,

Listening to my strained breath,

Deep, uneven, unmistakably mine.

Sometimes I disappear into the wilderness,

Not lost, just loosening from the noise,

As if the world below forgets my voice,

While the wind carries what I cannot hold,

And I finally fit somewhere again.

And when I descend, I bring it with me,

That version of myself, intact and grounded,

With grit on my fingertips and cold in my lungs,

From a mountain that never needed my name,

But simply lets me be.