Do not call me strong
by L.T. Ward
Do not call me strong.
Do not praise the mountain.
For there are fissures,
cracks left behind from the miners
who chose to scoop, to steal, my insides for themselves,
taking bits of me to places elsewhere, never here.
Tunnels of emptiness leaving weakened granite
exposed.
A silty sob drips along my weathered stone.
They took for themselves
They took and
they took and
they
took.
Do not call me strong.
Do not praise the mountain.
Insurmountable, they said
with awe in their voices,
glints of lust in their eyes.
They came with their axes and T-4.
They came with plans and passions, all for them,
looking at the obstacle, not the treasured beauty.
The mountain had little recourse but to witness as
they came to dig into my protective rock.
Do not call me strong.
Do not praise the mountain.
Millennia of clotting magma formed my core.
The sky’s breath blew life onto my surface
until the day I stood magnificent and
they
They craved a victory.
So they exploded, chipped, hacked, forced, dug
deeper
Removing bits of me, creating voided veins.
My magnanimous existence turned porous
with one wash from Heaven's tears.
I crumble unto myself,
a collapsed rubble of something once glorious.
Do not call me strong.
Do not praise the mountain.