It stands tall, unchanging,
Never lost, never quite there.
The hope of spring,
Can never move its heart,
The heart of cold stone,
Of forgotten dreams.
The harsh words of summer,
Are nothing to its hard shield,
A shield that once shielded,
The madness within.
Autumn brings the cool death,
The façade of warmth kills and corrupts,
It knows, and yet nothing!
Silence in its eternal meditation.
The unending winds of winter,
They strike with fury and passion,
Not a budge, not a scratch,
Not a whimper, not a sigh.
Under a haze of the swirling clouds,
Or under the clear blue mystic sky,
Under the gray fogs of mystery,
Or under the sweltering rays of the sun,
It’s still there, and will always stand tall.
Constructive Criticism is Valued.