Standing Upon A Mountain Range Poem by Wesley Dante

My face freezes like so many white nights
As the stiff wind elicits my desire.
For pain and for pleasure on an eternal rite,
To sleep a dream and perspire.

Thunderous mountains and the cliff of endless passion
Divulge me to myself and sanity.
Saintly thoughts with devilish intention hold
Me to my will and reason,
While the weavers of my mind are fast at work.

The great Horizon stretches about me
Like a never ending ocean of glory.
Impossible to reach, yet with the slightest touch
Befalls the greatness of the mourning.

The quickness of an appropriate step
Into one direction or the other,
Could break this fear of impending doom
Or withhold it altogether.

In such a time with the boldness of men
When the impulse of nerves takes control,
With the mighty combination of the purest beauty
And the steepest commitment of an immortal death,
Do I contemplate my freedom.

I gaze into that magnificent sky
As my legs begin to tremble.
The clouds open up as the white innocence transcends my soul
And brings me to a final peace.

The wind rustles my clothes as if to offer some suggestion,
And as my foot rises up I think of all the times I have raved.
In a never ending anger but with confidence now,
I take one final step to be saved.