The Mountain Of Malady Poem by RIC BASTASA

in the mountain of malady
the sharp fingernails of probity
on the hands of faith
dig the wells of whereto

time as usual is so patient
no stone is left unturned
layer by layer of fossilized moments
upturned and the quizzical look of
mercy continues to please

the stabs of light sometimes
hurt like murderous intent
but the quest has to continue
we all look for what is inside this
centuries of mysteries

time is cold. trees are felled.
it rains all night. the winds are angry.

at the bottom of it all beyond the thick layer
of lust and desire,
pain and betrayal, shame and fall?

what did you really find?

chunks of golden silence. platinum gaze.
diamond existence.