If It Were A Valley |
| Posted by Mark (mark) on Jun 11 2008 at 4:41 PM |
Verdant hills carpet a broad valley,
where the land ebbs the sky flows,
the cloud streaked heavens like a painters canvass;
deer frolic in the meadow while bees drink the wild roses,
a stream slices through the land like a dull butter knife,
rollicking to where the land ebbs and the sky flows it is a bridge between them;
such is the valley of my mind,
such is the freedom I seek, if it were a valley;
Untouched by men and women, not worked by the hands of innovative men,
most importantly, untouched by my own hands,
the stream clear and blue, not muddied by my stomping feet,
the deer at peace not startled by my intrusion,
the heavenly canvass peaceful, not harassed by my commentary of it,
such is the freedom I seek, if it were a valley;
No need to change the valley, no desire to develop it,
no need to control the deer or bees or even the length of the verdant grass;
no craving to make it more suitable, or better in my sight,
no incessant want to sculpt it in the image of good ideas, or right doctrine;
no need to manicure its wild and ragged appearance,
no desire to make it pragmatic, no need to define it,
such is the valley of my ideal,
such is the freedom I seek, if it were a valley;
The eagle soars through the sky, slicing the wind effortlessly,
he looks down with great acuity on the valley below;
how majestic; how lovely; how noble this creature is;
such piety cannot be found in all the earth, as in this eagle,
such fidelity to majesty is breathtaking;
soaring on the currents, he is a bronze icon,
such am I in my mind’s eye;
The raven caws with a shrill pugnacious cry,
tranquility is shattered in the valley;
scavenging and picking at itself it does a masochistic little dance,
its ugly flight and ravenous glare muddy the idyllic valley;
the sky turns gray where the land ebbs and the sky flows,
the raven a stench in the valley, a harbinger of death;
such am I in my mind’s eye, such am I in the mirror of life;
A clear sagacious eye is a rare gem indeed,
one free from the adornments of euphemism, the crown of denial,
and the scepter of self-hatred;
such is the freedom I seek;
to gaze upon the valley of my mind,
to comb the verdant hills and the lush basin;
to sing the bees melodious song and frolic with the deer,
to play in the stream and swat the magnanimous clouds;
all without agenda; all without striving and lurching forward - or back;
to enter into this hidden oasis, not intrude, such as I am,
without pretension or the gaudy euphemisms I love so;
such is the freedom I seek, if it were a valley.
