Cry the Mountain
If I were to cry the mountain would it crash upon the sea,
Would a rise to fame and fortune be plenty enough for me?
The lips with which we speak are taunted yet sealed,
A touch of blood a double-edged sword we weld.
Ride my fair lad, ride the seas of unknown grief,
Rest your weary head my laddie suffer the land underneath.
How wicked the wine oh, how the head it turns,
Drink hearty me children for the morrow the lesson to learn.
Shattered rejection wrong day ill. Shattered illusion,
Well played destruction, a lost moment. Thoughts of confusion.
Waves again the rocks crashing to shatter a windswept beach,
And my dreams, my thoughts, my love is just beyond my reach.
© Cynthia Clark