My screams do not resonate.
Their disruptions are blocked by the mountains before me.
I am on foot wearing brand new shoes.
My depression will not break me.
I have been broken on the floor desperate for agility and stability, for which both have alluded me.
My screams of disapproval bounce off the landscape and echo beyond.
If I was born to burn then why am I not lit?
I am at present dissolute to the reality of my purposes.
If the flame is life and I am ash, can I not recover by igniting the path?
Will the mountains subside if I rise?
If I begin with brand new shoes, can I climb the mountain to enjoy the view?
My faith is real, as am I.
The view is magnificent even with closed eyes.
I can see the future beyond the mountains.
My life will recover, I just have to let it happen.
Poem by Tristan Rimbaud
Copyright © 2017 New Life Old Soul™: A Tristan Rimbaud Company