Art Photography

Black Mountainside

Black Mountainside

There are no dead, they walk the air we breath,
they speak through the tomes of ashes in their mouths.

Though numbed by passing and surpassing fear
and bound to being on this trembling ground

I stand on all the while you spin me round
the axis of a passion or a year –
giddied I listen, having no choice but hear

your song composed of noteless silent sound
as if unhemmed, and your whole nature crowned

in hints caught up in waves – now blurred, now near.
the lapping waters absolves
my deepest fears

running my fingers through your body
over the waters, shimmering, a face

I’ve half thought yours appears to smile and call,
and back I call, Time – come – I am the space

you long to lodge in and take over all
the darkest corners from and light in grace
unsure if still I stumble, rise, or fall.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

8 replies on “Black Mountainside”

:-) those words dipping into the water were the centrepiece of the poem, and the turnaround from fear of the deep, to a renewed sense of belonging.

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