Learn More

Peter Boyle

(1951 - / Melbourne / Australia)

Some Mountains


The mountain beyond that pass has no name. It is too old for us to name it. The sea has the same colour as the sky but the mountain has the same colour as sand. Sand is not earth but a fluid shoreline that leads to the great cities. When we are tired we buy up land on the edges of the great cities so we can sit and watch the insomniac journey of sand. Its slow exodus across the horizon teaches us how to prepare for sleep. When flowers open on a day filled with sand all the water in the world will not quench their thirst.

I send words to you from so far off aiming to shape you towards the exquisite openness of love, but over and over I collapse in the effort to invent a life. Walking on sand has taught me I can no longer count on making it to any shore. Your eyes as I imagine them I will go on kissing gently and sheltering beneath. It may be that simply wishing you such tenderness will help you wake one day calmer, more deeply held by the world’s alignment, ready to find another and love. We cannot name sandgrains or some mountains but perhaps they can name us.

Submitted: Wednesday, May 02, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Some Mountains by Peter Boyle )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Trending Poets

Trending Poems

  1. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  2. The Saddest Poem, Pablo Neruda
  3. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  4. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
  5. Invictus, William Ernest Henley
  6. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  7. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
  8. A Prayer To Mother Nature., Marcondes Pereira
  9. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  10. Mist, Henry David Thoreau

Poem of the Day

poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti

A little while a little love
The hour yet bears for thee and me
Who have not drawn the veil to see
If still our heaven be lit above.
Thou merely, at the day's last sigh,
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]