Ceinwyn Poem by Stephen Thomas

The sky turns hollow,
And mountains to ash.
Time spent exploring human boundaries
Turns beauty to chaos,
And the mind to madness.
Treacherous, I know,
To scale these ledges –
Hewn out, like those dark rings
That ever so slowly seize my eyes.
Don’t think I cannot spot you,
Tossed among the brush –
Head low, with wavering eyes.
For you are of me,
A portion of the soul that still believes
That hope is not misleading –
That these calluses gained
From gripping stone after stone
May, in time,
Offer an unparalleled solace.
That destitution, and a wind-worn face
Will not persuade me to despond,
And in such a state
Fall into the lucid commands
That only release has to offer.
And you, my object of wrath,
Oh, child of my sweet,
Subtle fantasies will not escape
For as a slave to his master,
You are bound to me.
As sure as this mountain grips the earth
Will I cling to your grace.
I will hold these stones
Like the hems of your dress
And I will scale these slopes
If it means I’ll find the place
Where dreams meet reality
And the adversities of yesterday
Crumble in the breeze.
For without hope
I cannot be told from cloud, nor conifer –
And without a home,
Forever the mountain rises.