Poetry Corner VIII: Interlaken

Past the quaint villages I travel far
Striking with each step my hiking stick
My hand gripping it violently, we become one
All alone, the land rapidly grows steep,
Pulling me backwards to home base
The incline matches quicksand,
Each step losing its purpose
My spirit cannot be tamed
By this mere force of nature
Carrying on, climbing on, moving with intent
The villages that once felt so near
Seem a world away
As I climb towards the fluffy cotton that bears down on me
Cows mooing and grazing on the mountain’s green flesh,
Their heavy bells clanking violently,
Reverberating outward to the surrounding peaks
Reaching the apex, I strike my claim
To a piece of a day’s long journey
Peering out I see that same cotton
Now stretched over my poor Interlaken
Stained by a fuzzy charcoal


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