25 Jan 2020

Photons at the top

The tip of the mountain is not covered in snow,

Its sharp edges are cutting through the sky

And calling for my hands.

Poor and empty, they have reached the top

And scratched through dry grass and solid stone.

I lost and dropped objects of the soul,

I am filled now with photons and solar radiation.

The journey takes,

The adventure gives.

Clashing alone

The canopy on my head
Dances thoughtless in this afternoon
And the single leaves hug each other
In a heartfelt choreography.
Nature outside me screams
And the concrete inside me clashes
While I climb
my contradictions and todays’s incongruities.