Staying Alive
by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com
Staying Alive
With wings outstretched,
currents carry Nature's eyes upward,
rising above Alpine meadows flowering,
across scree-scattered memories old,
soaring above storm and cloud,
coming to rest on season's memory-laden cover.
Beneath an eagles’s talon grip
slants rusted sheets of shelter
overhanging tin-sealed windows,
occasionally with but closed eyes,
once gazing upon saber edged granite.
What secrets lay at rest
within its mountainous walls?
What flames of the spirit
has this bouldered shield kept kindled?
What exhaustion of lungs
has her solid floor given rest to?
What whispered voices
have her passion’s embers kept conscious?
To some.
a rest stop in history.
To others,
an outpost of courage.
To many others,
an illusion of what might be.
To all,
a rock-firm pause
reminding those who continue,
eagles do soar,
just as legs do climb,
and hearts do pulse,
all seeking but the calm,
of wind caressed current
where melodic vision is unabated
and chorused echoes spring infinite
in this place where journey of mind
meets one’s home of true being,
where absorbing the untrampled wilderness
affords staying truly alive for many as the only option.
Saturday, July 29, 2017
Staying Alive
With wings outstretched,
currents carry Nature's eyes upward,
rising above Alpine meadows flowering,
across scree-scattered memories old,
soaring above storm and cloud,
coming to rest on season's memory-laden cover.
Beneath an eagles’s talon grip
slants rusted sheets of shelter
overhanging tin-sealed windows,
occasionally with but closed eyes,
once gazing upon saber edged granite.
What secrets lay at rest
within its mountainous walls?
What flames of the spirit
has this bouldered shield kept kindled?
What exhaustion of lungs
has her solid floor given rest to?
What whispered voices
have her passion’s embers kept conscious?
To some.
a rest stop in history.
To others,
an outpost of courage.
To many others,
an illusion of what might be.
To all,
a rock-firm pause
reminding those who continue,
eagles do soar,
just as legs do climb,
and hearts do pulse,
all seeking but the calm,
of wind caressed current
where melodic vision is unabated
and chorused echoes spring infinite
in this place where journey of mind
meets one’s home of true being,
where absorbing the untrampled wilderness
affords staying truly alive for many as the only option.
Love ya!
Jane
But your poem is a metaphor for accomplishment. For those rare moments when we reach the pinnacle of our career where the air is rarefied, we feel like we can fly and we have left most of humanity far behind and far below… Bravo!
Ron