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Moving Mountains
May 25, 2015
Little legs stomp up an incline. The mountain rises tall above me. You carry me on your experienced shoulders as you easily and impatiently walk up the hill. When I'm set back down, the mountain is now a canyon. I have grown younger depending on you. I must learn to move mountains on my own. With the constant control placed on he weak, there is no chance to achieve greatness. I am strong enough. I am tall enough. I am good enough. I am enough.
I can move mountains.
© Julie B., New City, NY
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On the same day I wrote Blue Crystal Dome, another poetry piece, I caught sight of a small pile of rubble near the highway. As I fantasized about how tall it actually could be, I didn't realize I was already writing a prose. I just let my hand keep moving and my mind sent images to do the talking. And, then, we have a piece of art I love. I want to be able to have the strength, the faith, to move a mountain.