Scenic Routes

Let me the scenic route,
Where I’ll so haply take the off-ramp and stroll the dusty roads
That with her labored hands
Grips me to her hips, were to her heights I am weaned
And her depths I am taught.
Alas my feet have a canvas, my bristles do tame this medium.
The yearning heart, her wailing lips,
Are deemed not in vain
When echoed by her summits that with piercing needles
Thread each yarn of sky so well that when it rains
Her colours not fade nor each thread run.
That enduring pulse that so nearly clots my veins,
When unto the rivers tides thickens my blood
And ensures that indeed my tears not salted
Nor my blood stained.

The route is slow or rather patient
Her climb is steep or rather steady,
Trek forth, thou trek not in vain.