By Mark A. Leon

The beauty of the mind
Isolation of the snow
Cold silent flakes massage the air with sensuality

In the valley, I will hide
Alone under the stars; the city, a lifetime away

No lights to blind this ambition
No demons to torment the souls of broken dreams
Vaporized noise like a pure shot of nicotine

One eye blind
Two eye blind
Third eye, a clear vision

Insight rising to the crest of the moon
A falling star; a wish; a thought recited to an audience of one

In the valley, I will mate with the land
Shower her with love and rest on her belly

She is patience and so wise
She is gentle to the touch; firm to support

No hurry to begin the climb
It is not redemption I seek
No purpose; to end game
My value lies under the trees, tickled by the falling leaves

The cleanliness of the dirt as pure as the white satin of the clouds
A rescue from the contaminated concrete jungle

Smell her blossoming flowers
This is life’s blessing
A joy, a hymn, a choir of millions

The snow is layered its innocence all around
A white sparkle to shelter me in this valley
Here, I will hide