I stand gazing into broken fragments,
visually uncertain as I strain,
to make sense of what lies before me.
The low-lying heavy mist cloaks
the many trails I have traveled
to witness this
stewing and brewing tempest
reminding me of my lonely heart.
The mysterious outcroppings
rock solid, steel gray, distant
smugly seem like metaphors
of my own making of storms.
They appear as a statement.
Each craggy, hollow self-creating,
look of stoic resignation,
enduring their manifest
hardships, weathering all
storms without complaining.
As I gaze atop these ancient
monoliths toward the slow
unveiling of far mountains,
I look to the right and see
a single giant outcropping.
As if it were a spiritual guide,
a deep soul-feeling connection
draws me to this solo obelisk.
With a sudden knowing,
I sense a personal dawning.
There is time,
To which I revel in this thought!
Thank God, there is time!
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