Mountain by Bader A. Shehab

It was a treacherous journey,

if I could recall,
the way it struck me,
was out of sheer mass and awe.

My memory of it is vague,
and my recollection of events is scattered,
much like the way,
Broken thoughts glue back together battered.

It haunts me like a ghost,
the thought of it happening again,
just the smell of it and I am lost,
in between a wild hand of poker and bargain.

Melodic harmonies ease my mind,
at a pace faster than light,
and clamoring at a seat lucrative in my find,
this one chance at that last moonlit night…

It sounded like a calming soothing fire, now that the memory claims me…
Erupting melodic harmonies at endless rounds,
the livid walls surrounded organized like a choir,
yielding to their mountaineous subjection bounds.

I knew at that point,
if I punished my self at once,
descended to the sistine,
that this world and what is beyond is nothing more than a mountain trek; a climb-away,
from the pits of hell or tranquilities of desire.

– with love and courtesy from the mountain man of inferno and paradiso, or both?

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