Mountain of Souls

He sets forth up the mountain,
a mountain far different than earthen terrain,
yet he knows he's journeyed here before,
his soul, on another plane.

The mountain holds all the beauty,
his lifetime once had the opportunity to hold,
and a mountain of sadness to watch his children,
suffer in their losses, become gray and old.

His tears fell, in but only love,
when once life had placed anger within him of such things,
an anger he could no longer feel.
Another plateau in his steps,
such knowledge that it brings.

He knew the steps that they we would be taking,
the heartache and struggles of life, death, those left behind,
tears, yes the tears, for they are of love,
for their lacking would make one of the cold selfish kind.

Far greater knowledge, than he ever knew,
as just a simple man,
he felt the energy he had as a boy,
the laughter as he ran.

His heart unsevered by the consequences of a world,
still unknowing of enemies, disease, complications,
still unknowing of bitter battles through books,
through man's rules, and regulations.

His held lightly barely any weight of the world,
still unknowing of fear, of greed, of self-preservation,
still bountiful, harvests of well fed pleasures to delight,
still unknowing, the wrath of a world, sick starvation.

This mountain, so much to learn,
more than any book could grant, spreads over this land,
but he reaches the top, where happiness is unfading, unfolding in flowers.
Light amidst rain showers,
and the touch, the comforting touch of love,
held by every heart, ever held in closeness,
they grant their hand.