Beneath Mountain's Mist of Foam

To know as I am known

I do not see or feel

The color of your tone

Nor perceive the smoothness of your stone

I walk upright in unembellished totality

Untrue to sound within familiar air

I am removed from the memory of care

Who when calls my name I am unaware

Of sad unapologetic disinterested refrain

Filling layers of reoccurring unexamined pain

A semblance fraught with undisclosed deceit

In welcomed disguised motions to retreat

As if I am a blatant fool so sweet

To offer my condescending temperate fare

Wandering eyes uncontrollably do stare

Searching for meaning beyond compare

Yet, I find nothing but ill disposed preferential moor

Suited like an emblazoned young excited matador

Whose desire contented bull does not contemplate the score

But hastens in fierce enraged agony oblivious to defeat

Do not say I am judiciously unprepared

For the seizing of the tempest gale

Selects the unexpected course to sail

Count me not among the sexless dead

Who watch their secret lives in hopeless dread

Unread books will not prevail

When untouched fear dispatches its precious hue

Raw experience defies disgusted flavor’s nail

I can not walk upon your path of chosen glee

It reeks of wanton choking imbued certainty

I remain unmoved by cavern’s haunting heed

To deny a love dauntingly filled with greed

And profess an elevated sense of gracious need

If I am to be shown as I am known

I receptively will myself to be sliced to the bone

Tear, rip, strip all superficiality of which I have honed

I desire nothing but to be what it is I can not see

To exalt the lowest part of me

For that is where I shall discover unbiased divinity

Paula Andrea Pyle. M.A. Ed.