The treason of the mountain

Start digging. . .

Start the shovel . .

Begin again.

There I was working the mine of my mind.

Tearing my alphabet springing words and digging holes at the past of what once.

That treacherous path of the mountain of my own hill of sorrows, woes and pain.

Traveling too many times I cannot count.

Too much of time wasted on such notions and personal battles of what should and could would haves of mountains of what if's.

At the top it took all of me to tell my brain to stop,

I glide down with all of my suffering and pains to get to the bottom of it all.

Batlled bruise and brawled, I laughed all of it and telling myself.

"Thanks to all of it."

At least what humor come out of it.