The Lost Way Up the Mountain

[normanball]

The Lost Way Up the Mountain

So she opened up the door and fell across the madman crouched beneath the stair.
And the madman, duly woken, sought to climb her sodden rope of morning hair.
Had she known the pauper lay atop the day's rolled-up and sordid new affair,
she'd have kept to tugging knots, a bricked Rapunzel in her monumental lair.

But the madman, sharp with hunger, called upon a brooding prophet's savoir faire.
Every mishap's ripe with answers. Every fall injects a new god unaware.
Would the lady find his East of Eden whispers just a shade too much to bear?
Would she shrink back in her vestibule, or find religion in the madman's stare?

When the police arrived the horror of the scene hung like a vestige in the air.
And the next day's curled-up headline on the girl was that she'd not have stood a prayer.
What transpired is far from certain like a private church laid open, soiled and bare.
So the TV Man read Happenstance, a burning bush to madness and despair.

It's the lost way up the mountain cedes the reading light to personage and page.
It's the lost way up the mountain seeks to covet light from demagogue and sage.
It's the lost way up the mountain won't account for usury or sinner's wage.

It's the lost way up the mountain knows geometry --all money, saith, is round.
It's the lost way up the mountain where a footstep cannot fall --how sweet the sound!
It's the lost way up the mountain that rejoiceth in resisting being found.

Forget the heiroglyph. The mountain is a myth.


Copyright 2009, Norman Ball

[mirrormist]

Enjoyed reading your poem. In particular "or find religion in the madman's stare?"

regards

http://www.mirrormist.com