Sometimes we need to return to the core of who we are
never realizing we needed to be there in the first place,
but stretched, to the point of breaking the fever makes us think,
makes us search deep down, into the man or woman
we were meant to be, without the mask, or plastic.
For me it has always been the mountains, my guardians
sometimes dressed in elegant white, you can hear
them whisper when the snow is falling, calling
for me to pay attention, to what I know is true.
My heartbeat, breathing normal and reaching above,
not writing from the pain, but moving forward
thinking like a tree, stronger than the Himalayas,
to the strength, of who I am
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”