Answers

Mntns

What is this life
but a solemn and playful trek,
all serious and all play,
up the blue mountain?
Is each rut in routine
not a switchback higher?
Is every setback and failure
not another walk in beauty?
Is each opportunity and success
not a moment further to peak?

What are time’s ticking hands
but a careful Craftsman’s
refining the clay in fire,
and to nature what is time
but a season of drought
and a season of flood?
Why must man’s heart ache
in both pain and abundance?
Why not dance in the sun
and sing to the moon?

And what is this life
but a minute to eternity?
And what of time
to that which surrounds it?
What is sin to redemption
and silence to mention?
What is loneliness to being known
and what is poverty to promises?
Why should a mirror exist
when there is the echoing creation?

How could a cosmic whisper
roar louder than the world’s raving?
What is life but a slave to time?
What is time but a passage of water
reuniting to its oceans?
What then is life but
not also returning?
Who then are we to hear
the silent waters, pointing
us back home?

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