There is but a man on a misty mountain
Waving at the crows
There is but a man on a misty mountain
Relinquishing his sorrows
There is but a man on a misty mountain
Peering at the hues
There is but a man on a misty mountain
After finding the truth
There is but a man on a misty mountain
Taking a deep breathe
There is but a man on a misty mountain
Releasing life’s stress
There is but a man on a misty mountain
Realizing he is blessed
There is but a man on a misty mountain
Losing sight of time
There is but a man on a misty mountain
Noticing that the world is blind
There is but a man on a misty mountain
With no more to find
There is but a man on a misty mountain
With no more to try
There is but a man on a misty mountain
The Stairway to Heaven just climbed
About the Creator
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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