Poetry in Narrative.

The Mountain.

The Mountain.

Was out walking Sunday morning

trying to remove stones from my path.

Running through silly emotions

as others sat back and had their laugh.

When a mountain appeared out of nowhere.

It stopped me short in my tracks.

Gave it a long look then stumbled on;

I knew the Lord had my back.

I climbed my way to its summit.

Sat down, then peered inside.

Oh what a glorious mountain,

I found a treasure that could not hide.

It sparkled in all its perfection.

A radiant gem I just had to hold.

Forgot my walk as I moved onward.

Forgot a lot of things I was told.

This gem held me so captivated;

inside my mind I would survive.

I became lost, other worldly sedated

as I held tightly onto my prize.

This mountain had itself a river

that flowed on down from on high.

On that Sunday morning I shivered.

Then soft tears fell, I began to cry.

For in walking, I was pushing stones away.

When this mountain dropped along side.

Where could I go but up and over!

It's now time to stem the tide.

My gem, I carried far off that mountain.

Promised to keep it safe from any storm.

Now, I continue along in my journey,

slightly battered, bruised but, not torn.

This path I walk is going to be a long one.

Of this I'm certain and hold no doubts.

My faith has grown to unwavering,

so it was worth writing about.

When the Lord gives you a mountain;

walk up and have a look within,

because nothing is done out of displeasure.

It is done for the light to shine once again.

A.o.R.