Far Over the Weathered Mountaintops

Far over the weathered mountaintops

That rise above the leaves of shrouded trees

Enshrined in shadow after dusk,

An orange glowing fades to blue and black,

And evening’s kiss of cooling breeze

Restores to you the freedom that you lack.

 

Far over the weathered mountaintops

Where you had roamed so many years ago

Along a still untraveled track,

You find yourself anew upon the brink

Of summits unexplored. Now go

And find the living waters there to drink.

 

Far over the weathered mountaintops

You fly, beyond the window by your bed,

While the remnants of your body sink

And all of that confusion in your head

Disperses in a moment’s wink.

Your spirit’s on the wind, new trails to tread.

 

Some of my favorite poems are the ones where a story seems to emerge as I am writing. As I work on one like this, I feel like I am uncovering an underlying tale that already exists. While I was sitting out on my balcony (described in last week's poem), I was looking at the hills that rise up in the distance to the south, and that image combined with a line from Tolkien ("Far over the Misty Mountains cold") to inspire this poem's title. As I continued to write and think about it, a story of someone lying in bed, nearing death, began to emerge. This person looked out the window and saw mountains they had once enjoyed exploring. With those final thoughts focused on these experiences, the person's spirit passes on and heads out toward, and beyond, the mountaintops.