Mountain High Poem by Steve 'easy' Whitacre

Lay down on the mountaintop,
Blissfully caressed most calm,
Mind in deepest of tranquillity,
Gentle breezes bring raptures,

Fair clouds all adrift below me,
The winds still calmly cooling,
Deeply caught in this moment,
My weary heart begins to heal.

Aimless in dreaming wonders,
Bathed in surprising blue skies,
I could spread my wings to fly,
My soul already climbing aloft,

Far over distant unknown places,
Memories consummated import,
So much to yet carry on through,
Sunshine feeds a wide-eyed core,

Yet tears run down my face slow,
Glistening liquid of unhappiness,
Gently the wind wipes them dry,
Spirit gives me some little peace,

Soaring freely why so saddened,
My eyes fill this vision of waste,
My Spirit shutters trying to hide,
Takes hand to pull away in pain,

Balking I beg for a discernment,
What means my world all dieing,
And why my life,
Is so important it seems.

A long soar,
Like the eagle high,
I bow my head,
And I start to cry.

Back on the land,
Across from the tree's,
I began to realize,
What healing means.

It means not to forget,
Let the past flow,
Of all the horrors,
One soul had to go.

To take the strengths,
And apply them to life,
Is a valuable lesson,
I've learnt this flight.

Alone in the sunset,
I watch it go down,
When I finally realize,
What peace I have found.

easy...