Poetry

Vague log cabins speckle the yawning valley 
against the rapture of majestic mountains.
Narrow pathway snakes up the range, 
gooseberry shrubs colour the sides
of the stony trail that leaves me cold. 

Squinting against the dead sun
chilly winds dampen my spirits 
and leave my hair cold and white.
My Spine aches, am indecisive to tread; 
maybe it's not wise to dare this trek.

A faction of monks trace the swirling path
gracing like a ball of red zarberas.
Serene faces marked by thousand lines
carry a spark to their praying eyes.

Crimson flutter reveals gleaming heads
on bare swaying shoulders; 
oblivious to the dipping chill, 
naked feet define a destination 

As the file draws nearer, 
eyes are blinded by crazy winds, 
Stillness wraps numb feet
and mind freezes.

they walk past me
sacred energy overwhelms 
as peace descends 
and my heart feels an amazing warmth.