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I decided to write a test post – test posts and test pages are important

Posts and pages are very confusing if you are not entirely sure what the differences are.

I need to publish this so that I can see where it posts to. Ah…I yearn for the days when pen and paper sufficed. But then, no-one got to read my weird and wonderful rants. Those were the days hey?

Having spent time sitting contemplating the sheer magnificence of mountains, I was left wondering what it is about them that draws mankind towards them in worship.  

Why do we feel the need to draw and paint them, to write poetry and songs proclaiming their beauty and awe-filled majesty. Why do we struggle up the ascents simply to slide down again? 

Unintentionally Inspirational

It feels like a piece of me is lost
Though the picture is fine on the box;
But when someone cares enough to put me together
They’ll see a piece of me is lost forever.
Then every time they look at me
The missing piece is all they’ll see

Writing lines that will never be read, 
Words tumbling and jostling around in my head,
A lyric named "what I wish I had said - but I didn't."
Hearing a song that no one will sing,
That elusive tune only silence can bring, 
Wishing I'd sung it like a bird on the wing - but I didn't.
 
Binding a book whose leaves won't be turned, 
A story of flying but my feathers got burned,
I should have grown from the lessons I learned - but I didn't. 
Painting my life but the bristles have dried, 
Safe behind a blank canvas I hide,
Should I have risked some colour before my dreams all died? 
Seems I didn't.
 
Could have told others my story but why would they care
So I've left it all shrouded, only I was there,
Could have put it on Facebook for a like and a share - 
But I didn't.
 
See.... 
I sang like a bird alone on a cloud,
I read that book but never out loud.
Could have shared my painting with the everyday crowd.
But I didn't . 

Parys Mountain in Anglesey, Wales. The remains of a mountain whose innards contained minerals and metals mankind wanted. Her inner beauty lies exposed to the elements.

Overly romantic? Yeah, I know! What can I tell you…I’m a poet!

 She stood, proud against the sea blown gales, her heart forged in the melting pot of a chaotic planet. 
The Mountain.
She held secrets, secrets given to her as the world was formed around her. 
Secrets which rose her head high above the land. 
Secrets she held inside throughout time, holding them close, guarding them as a mother swaddling her firstborn. 
Until they came! 
Until a man dug into her skin and, in that first cut, exposed her riches, her beauty, her secret. 
She proudly proclaimed "See my wondrous colours! Marvel at my body!"
Oh they saw! 
Then they came... 
They came in their hundreds. Swarming! Smashing! Destroying!
Taking her apart, rock by coloured rock, 
Digging, boring, scraping, taking - taking - taking. 
Even as she died, her arteries were alive with the industry of her murderers. 
Her veins throbbing as they dug and carried her away, 
Until only a great chasm remained where her heart had been,
And she was drawn and quartered for the crime of containing what men wanted. 
Then sated, they left. 
And she died again - for they took their beating hearts along with hers. 
They took their lifeblood along with hers
And left her with nothing bar scars, 
For on her exposed belly, little would grow, little could live.
They left her with nothing save the secret which had killed her, 
The beauty a macabre autumnal shroud - her colours shouting their agony in silence,
Screaming their anger voicelessly in the wind. 
Yet justice will not be hers, 
For she is no more.