in our struggles—we can get lost in obscure woods
suffering beneath serrated words of howling heads
who grasp only a distorted horizon of themselves
and muddy our hopes to stand as tall mountains
cemented within firm foundations of individuality
indefatigable—we sweat on greasy panes of plans
overlooking round mossy stones that leak soft waters
and anxious wildflowers that ignite their azure skies
we turn into solitary sabers of crystallized stone
whittled coarse in apathetic erosions of steely time
abandoned by carving ice—scarred by angry winds
left to spread our burdens of inescapable wildfires
as we look back into charred timbers of our past

in wretched shadows—we try to fix splinters of us
we huddle as talus under ashen clouds of derision
somber yet frightened in the shouts of long despair
welded by bolts of division’s sharp blue lightning
entombed in the petrified vaults of unforgiveness
digging in deep mines for any strength and meaning
we build up cairns of flat stone to weigh our course
in a dark that licks our harshest pinnacles of pain
our trials metamorphose us into heartless tribunals
that conscript us as rock—stumbling blocks to truth
thwarting lights that reveal the eternity within us
in the end—we realize we never noticed the beauty
—because we were too busy trying to create it