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The Mountain, Shrine of Sacred Feelings
The Mountain shrine of Euterpe
As i muse upon yester times, the mountains as holly shrine, the forest, with thicker pines, with birds joyous in the sunshine, playing with kids at the age of mine. careless in the eighties.......
Beyond the hill top, a pitch was so green, and the sheep herds graze on grassy meads; and the fields stretch, as far as a child eye can reach.................
As i muse on yesteryear, and the cheerful songs float out like celestial hymns from the school, i hear pupils playing hopscotch, hide and seek, cheers would chase away my fears.....in my age around the eighties.....
Around the years of wait and see, i have already lost my memory, i rite verry bad pO tree, i flare up at anybody, at a man at woman at good at bad, at old and young, i spare no body, and then i say i am right not left, i am good at bed, i am straight not bent, i am alive not dead............
Around the years of dead sympathy, i had the visit of a donkey and the best wishes from a grasshopper, and the new year's present from a rat hid in my dirty basement......
Around this years, i hear no thunder, i see no lightening, no grass taller then me, no skies as blue as ocean's indigo. Nature has taken a torrid sleep, a long nap between the years, scarcely little drops to grant a dying dust...............................
i find my name, i find my human self when i strip this mortal body from a human crime, from Adam and his flaw, from Earth, from dust and water and keep only the sacred core in me.... ;sins grow and humans commit what makes the brain bursts out, and the heart feels things going down, worse and worst...and i find that in the mountain purification is a cleansed place, still ever pure, unstained where only natural growth abides, unbridled, not disturbed, still quite and running under heaven's guiding hands.........
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