Memories vivid in head, fighting to align
Who's on top, who's next
stacked pages, amazingly they wind
Still naive, still in cave
Zeal, painted with fire, still the same
What's out there? questions remain
No worth exploring, answers never change
The sun, lantern, candle or a bulb?
Probably the bright that mountains speak
I hold onto it. Or am i the mountain?
Does it matter? Question remain
No worth exploring, answers never change!
1 comments:
As tall as those peaks you see,
there’s something in you rising quietly—
not loud like questions,
not restless like doubt,
but steady… like a mountain learning its own name.
Those pages you speak of,
they’re not competing, not climbing—
they’re just moments
folding into each other,
making a story that doesn’t rush to be understood.
You say the answers never change—
maybe they don’t need to.
Maybe they’re not meant to end the search,
but to soften it.
The cave you stand in—
it’s not a place of being lost,
it’s where your eyes
are learning to see light
without being blinded by it.
And that light—
sun, lantern, candle, or bulb—
it doesn’t matter what you call it,
because the truth is gentler:
you don’t have to hold it,
and you don’t have to become the mountain.
You already carry both—
the glow and the ground.
Let the questions remain,
not as weight,
but as wind—
moving through you,
not against you.
Because sometimes,
the worth you’re seeking
isn’t in finding an answer—
it’s in standing still,
feeling the warmth,
and realizing…
you’re already enough
to be here,
to breathe,
to rise.
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