We Are All Born From The Dirt Somehow

I once waited

at the base of a mountain

in Utah

who claimed to be a god,

and I believed him

because when

I scoured the surface

of that twisted

mound for a pathway

to the heavens,

I found harbored secrets

in the wind,

finally divulged to a wanderer

with only time to give.

Can it be ignored

when the Earth admits

she has a son who is lonely

and begs you to show the

famed affection

of your kind?

“Climb my mountain,”

she sighed,

a bittersweet petition

like she had long been

fading from herself.

I am no savior,

but there I abandoned

the shoes that always blistered

and walked bare

on the sacred

ground like our ancestors

before they unremembered

we are all born

from the dirt somehow.

Fleeting northward,

urged by the undiscovered,

neck covered

in sweat

of enlightenment.

“What is in your heart?”

the curious titan

questioned as I palmed

his celestial peak.

“Everything,”

I screamed

with nothing anchoring

me but a mother’s love,

stones below my feet,

and the hungry star above.