Climbing Mountains Poem About Living Out Your Dreams

Climbing Mountains
A Poem About Living Out Your Dreams and Believing in Yourself

The road rose in the distance
insistent on wrapping around
the towering mountain like twine.
At its feet stood a shrine
dedicated to the drowsy dreamer,
the tired thinker, the sleepy schemer
who had journeyed all this way
only to have disbelief poison the mind.

And yet doubt wasn't left behind
in even the faithful and courageous traveler
who had begun the climb.
For the apex stood painfully high;
the road wound for miles
surrounded by ledges where dreams fall and die.

Victory is only tasted
by the dreamer who doesn't look back
and doesn't get offtrack
by looking too far forward.
But who is purposeful in their impact
right here, right now
perfectly content in the present moment.
One step after another
feeling the ground beneath their feet,
faithfully carrying their dream on their shoulders
until their vision is realized and complete.

The future is only actualized
by those who realized eons ago
that the future is bound by
the way we carry ourselves in the present.
It's what we learn during the ascent
that makes the climb worth doing;
never in the need for recognition and achievement.

Wake up, you drowsy dreamer!
Rouse yourself from your delusions!
Shake yourself from the critics illusions
and the conclusion that you'll never find your way!
For the journey begins and ends
the way we begin and close each day.

Justin Farley



Poem about the Writing Process – “Inkblood”

blood-with-pen

Inkblood – A Poem about the Writing Process

Beneath a pale, July moon
An ancient manuscript sits
Illuminated by candlelight,
Its pages gently rustling in the breeze
Blowing behind the curtains of the nearby window.

The ink is faded beneath
Layers of time and age,
But the wisdom remains
Scribbled in rhymes,
Written eons ago by some old sage.

But tonight it’s voice has a reader –
A man of sandy, blond hair
Ponders over your verses
And reflects on the meaning of your lines.
And like magic, the grime vanishes,
the words sparkle, and come to life.

Your cold, decomposed, long lifeless corpse
May only be fertilizer to the tongues of roots,
But your blood still flows and pulses
Through the pages you stained black with blood from your pen.
The body may have an expiration date,
But thoughts, words, and ideas have no end.

We live on through the pages we inhabit –
Awake to the reader’s touch,
Soar the skies once more, high
On some incomprehensible magic like pixie dust.

I deposit my heart of pains, joys, loves, and flames
Into the safe guard of your keeping.
My receipt is a word count
That compounds with the interest of each reader’s heart.

-Poem Written by Justin Farley


 

Pic. – onlanka.com