Mountain Trek
Every tremor is permanent.
Every grouchy rock in the path,
every bird carcass lying under the canopy
every dandelion reaching to the international Klein sky,
and I'm scarred.
Me, a single human being,
irrelevant to the toppling Gaea.
How is it,
that every step I take towards the nonexistent edge of the universe
towards the boundaries of my being,
my mind, soul, body
are all ripped apart by the sheer strength
of the event horizon
that was deep within?
Our cosmos is immense
awe-struck in the violent stillness
pushing us beyond our own limits
yet unknown and unapologetic to us.
Fear its crushing might,
whisper in its harsh deafness.
I am fragile
but the minute things,
greater than my existence,
don't pound the mountain.
My feet and my head carry me
to the horizon,
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