The Mountain
by RJ Farndon
he is
a lonely mountain, shattered peak
a scar across the heavens
a wound that festers underneath
a failed quest for redemption
a scree slope, a cave
a wind-wrought rock
a fading remnant
a candle clock
a Hermit, trapped in Holy Virgin’s womb
memories, regrets, pain entombed
long excommunicated, bent digging a latrine
all the excrement he buries down below
from Mary’s umbilical, he cut the cord
his past, the world outside, strike solace on his back
rambling down dead ends, mumbling prayer
lies that reek of droppings, plastered in his locks
his worm-ridden mind, Satan’s serpent-snare
quartz crystals in candlelight, heaven all around
in pure elation from self-imposed suffocation
a coughed up feather
a bruised bloodied back
a belt of darkened leather
as wings break through his shoulder blades
his palimpsest of scars
the walk from his cave
his flight unto the stars
freedom, pure joy, jubilation
reborn reincarnate salvation
a fiery burning meteor
on his knees at heavens door
About the author
RJ Farndon lives in Birmingham UK. He tries to write novels and enjoys poetry. He is happiest when the cricket is on, listening to Test Match Special, or sleeping under starry skies. He plays chess in the leagues and loves Wolverhampton Wanderers FC. “The Mountain” is the first piece of poetry he has had published.
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