My Heart is a Mountain

My heart is a mountain.
Rough, uneven, and jagged.
Its beat skips unexpectedly.
As the chains move with the quakes.

My heart is a mountain.
Old, tired, and sore.
It’s unnaturally familiar with pain.
As mountains are used to the rain.

My heart is a mountain.
Patient, courageous, and hopefully, true.
It’s used to being lonely
As mountains try to gaze over the endless hills . . . .
Which are already taken by the trees. 

My heart is a mountain.
So cold, and so dark.
It is afraid of the past
As mountains partially fear an Alaskan sunrise.

My heart is a mountain
Neither alive nor dead
Its rhythm comes and goes
As mountains rise and fall.

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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