KEVAN KOYA

Walking with the ghosts

High above the tree tops
There can be seen a view
Of iced peaked mountains
Piercing a brilliant blue sky
Passing clouds come to greet
Then kiss the cold face
Of what is the most haunting
And loneliest place on earth

For, where I stand
Was, once warm and fertile ground
But now feels the cold breath
From the mountain
Forcing its way down
Through the valley
To a village far below

A chill, a fear
Grasps those unexpectedly
That may stand in its path
The sounds of creaking and bending
As trees bow in obedience
To the summers end
And to share again
In the frosted stillness of winter

A splitting roar
Echoes across the valley
Then fades into the distance
As large sheets of ice
Breakaway from the mountain side
Tumbling, advancing
Like an army charged in battle

Delicate shafts of light
Filter through the trees
To skip and dance
Illuminating the forest floor
Penetrating its darkest depths
In a last display of defiance

Though there shall come a time
When the warmth will force back
The cold, angered breath of the mountain
To let life begin once more
But until that time
Now suspended in this frozen landscape
Silently, patiently
Following the mountain's path
I walk with the ghosts

Words by Kevan Koya