The Mountains

They stand

guardians of past

like trees

their roots grasp

Sometimes they sway

but not in the breeze

for that is nothing

to them

But they sway

to a beat, a rythme

their heart

our earth

And as they watch

swaying like trees

with beating hearts

and sharpened brow

They share stories

like men around a fire

they whisper

they groan

They discuss the fires

of old

of distant lands

of past days

These whispers

breath around the earth

always there

always speaking

Like the men

telling fireside stories

can be heard

in all chests

Like the whisper

of new lands

breaths life into

weak

Like the challenge

to win

to conquer

to live

That is their call

These ancient keepers

of dirt

of rock

That is their wild whisper

Their sharp sigh

Their bitter echo

Their uneven breath

That is the cry

That will drag men

out of their comfort

and into their home