Alone Up There

I am alone up there

Where my old soul is bare

Brittle to the cold gusts

Howling whispers at dusk

Left alone to my thoughts

Broken rocks in six pots

Spread across the mountain

Like flowers on a grave

I climbed up to my god

Silhouette man in fog

A soul of lighted words

Silver winged fantasies

And hopes, always my hopes

A heart spent on old tropes

So what did I find there?

Nothing, but iced cold wind

No peaceful solitude

Just a dark interlude

Before I had to leave

This altar of reprieve

And return to the ground

On my way to the mound

Where my old bones will rest

When I have failed the test

But even as I walk

Through this valley of mine

I look up now and then

Like a chick with no hen

I see the mountaintop

Where once I had stood tall

A dead rock in a cloud

God behind a white shroud

After He has passed by

Catcher left in his rye

With nothing but his dream

And spent spunk on his seam

I am alone up there

And frankly do not care

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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