Poetry: Contemplation

On mountain peaks I sit unstirring,
My vision more and more is blurring.
I’m growing blind to what I’ve thought is true,
I’m growing lighter in the draining hue.

I only see what I’ve forgotten,
I only breathe of air un-rotten’d,
What seems like blurring mist is clearing,
The falsehood in my heart is searing.

And though I’m pained by the obscurity,
In which I thought I’d find my purity,
As it smokes and burns away,
I am renewed by true light’s day.

To sit in contemplation is my gift,
That time bestowed on my poor head.
My thoughts have all been set adrift,
And land on shores I thought long dead.

Through valleys they now fly and see,
From birch to oak and every tree,
From rock and moss and time’s own dwelling
I hear the voice of true heart’s swelling.

Poetry: Adrift
Poetry: Lying Still

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