Arousing Mountain Crescendos 

How real your unreal air, 
glistening micro vats of life 
my lungs drink in, 
while wind of your 1st movement 
my ears do transcribe. 

To my left the river''s drum, 
proclaiming the 2nd movement 
skewering silt, 
pulling current across timpani slabs, 
the gray rush of glacial tears 
rushing to final ringlets of chimes 
surrounding burials of 
fixed ropes asunder. 

How many have climbed your podium, 
lifted baton upon sound and eye-scapes transcendent, 
deftly planted movement 
round acaulescent rests of mind 
to experience the suspension of life held taut? 

For some, 
amidst simple breaths, 
crescendos now clash, 
ethereal flames alight, 
know the symphony''s 3rd, 
brilliance of a finish 
but a short distance beyond. 

Preparation and practice sing out, 
beckoning solitude and peace. 

Ropes hold fast. 

Spikes beneath my prod 
deliver me atop. 

The aroused crescendo of merit bows, 
nature applauds, 
my eyes look further 
as pride peers upon another opus of peace, 
seeking peaks yet to climb. 

“Because it''s there,” 
proclaimed of once, 
is not enough for some, 
whose simple melodies 
of harmony''s unease 
layer yet beyond 
more dreams and 
forever reaching a mountain''s next crescendo.