In Love, I am the mountain,
surrounded by the sea.
A mystery, everyone says, what fortunate soul might conquer her?
Who would dare?
Truth be told, dying to be overwhelmed, I softened my edges, allowed pride to crumble.
I became vulnerable, ready, willing to be worn down by the sea, as is right.
Alas, exposed, below me, my conqueror did not rise.
My Sea, my lover, remained unstirred –
Uniformly void of spume, of thunderous roar - of obsession.
Like a glass eye viewing a masterpiece, he was equally oblivious to me.
Behold, how even my shadow lays listless upon him, could he not, at the very least, stir that!
I ask, O Lover, where is your passion?
Where is your desire to drag me beneath you!
Curse your tranquillity!
If still waters run deep, then I declare you fathomless!
Sailors call you traitor!
The wind grows tired of you!
And so do I!
O how you have brought the lofty low.
Made miserable with the longing to be wanted.
Why do you stay if you have no desire to take?
What storms have forgotten you in my wake?
Abandoned you to my shores!
I, the Mountain, it seems, must crumble down into your depths and carry you away!
Why is it that I must hammer against you!
Its not fair!
O Sea, why don't you beat against me, consume me, drag me beneath you.
Like the other waters do, to the other mountains.
Leave me dry!
Leave me be!
But do not leave me to beat myself to sand.
Do not have me reduce myself to sparkles on a distant shore.
Its your duty done, yes, well executed to be sure, but far from the bard's pretty telling.
That is too cruel,
even for you.
Made of my tears.
Why don't you want me?
O where is your passion?
I ask and I ask again, but you never answer!
Questions with no answers become riddles!
In love, I am the mountain,
Unwanted! Abandoned! Tormented!
A curse upon you! To heck with it!
I shall ask instead: Why do you stay?
True and steady as a clear blue sky, as close to me as the wind on my face,
holding my shadow.
Embracing me, where I touch you.
Because you love me?
Because you hate me?
Or is it sad mistake that leaves you lapping eternally at my stones?
By Jaymee Bennett