Mountains
Torre A. DeVito
The love of my parents rose
As mountains in the
Landscape of my childhood.
So very like a mountain, those,
With streams so clear, and
Shadow under wild wood.
There, upon that hard barrier broke
Many storms, ended
Many harsh intrusions.
The unknown, beyond that wall, evoked
Many dreams, began
Many false illusions.
In me, and in that valley slept
A mountain climber, who
Was more than ready to begin.
That barrier, lauded that it kept
The world without, was
Cursed for keeping me within.
In that sheltered valley I in time
Explored the limits
There laid out for me.
Till I was old enough to dare to climb
The obstacles that
Mountains grow to be.
How deceiving is that tedious ascent,
Every rise would
Seem to be the peak.
Though mountainīs viewpoint wasnīt my intent,
But the view, as such,
Has altered what I seek.
