Now after many, many years,
And after many, many tears,
Alas, they’d reached the mountain top—
The summit which so many sought.
Under the heavens’ starry shrouds,
The sage and boy walked through the clouds
Where scarlet moonlight gently bathed
Each glistening slope and snowy cave.
They walked among the chastened snow
Which cast on them a starry glow.
But as the young man faced his fears,
He felt an avalanche of tears.
He saw his master in the snow,
Ailing far from their homes below.
“Master, are you alright? Perhaps
It’s time we settle for the night.”
The master looked at the young man
And said, “I’ve climbed all that I can.
“I’ve spent so many precious years
Making the climb, now my time nears.
“But you still have much more to go;
The more you climb, the more you’ll know.”
The peaks were shining and pristine;
The sage lay quiet and serene.
But the student still lamented,
Aching from many trials, tormented.
“It takes so many years to reach
These heights and many more to teach
“Another man to make the climb,
To dedicate his tears and time.
“Why pursue knowledge day by day,
If it must still dwindle away?”
“All of the knowledge that one wrought,
All of the truths for which one fought,
“Must then be purloined by the breeze—
Death silences all of our pleas.”
The boy looked to the star-laced skies,
The tears now burning in his eyes.
The master turned to him and gazed:
Looking upon the boy unfazed
He said, “All is not what it seems,
A man must die, but not his dreams.”
The pupil looked into the sky;
A single tear streamed from his eye.
David B. Gosselin is a poet, translator, researcher and filmmaker living in Montreal, Canada. He publishes New Lyre Magazine. His latest book is titled A Renaissance or New Middle Ages: Magic, Mystery and the Trance Formation of the West. Discover his latest films, A Tale of Two Murders: Edgar Allan Poe’s Final Mystery & The Devil at Woodstock.
Chinese Mountain Man: The Climb
Who goes there, wandering About the mists and the rains? Among the alpine crests And mountains’ crystal streams? A Chinese mountain man Treks up the steep defiles. And with him follows close His pupil short of breath. They walk among the pines, Which rise from every crag.
The Night Sky
Trekking among the steep defiles, Trailed by the sage, a young boy tried To use the dim-lit stars in hopes Of finding some path or some guide To help him climb the rocky slopes. They made their way among the fog Which stalked them now for many nights,
The Dragon Slayers
The sage and pupil made their way Along a snowy promontory. With jagged ridges far below, Stern crests and cornices above, They trekked towards the dragon’s grot, Which lay among the snowy crags. But as they neared the creature’s den, The boy began voicing his doubts.
Little Things
Still far below the dreamed-of peaks, The trekkers scaled a mountainside. They climbed up damp and calcined walls, Scaled rocky ledges and steep cliffs. The young boy quickly grappled stones, Swiftly ascending up each crag. His grip was anxious and zealous,
The Mountain Wood
A sage and pupil made their way Into a deep and darkened wood. They searched and wandered places Where, for years, no traveler would. The underbrush, the damp-cool swamps And thorny vines delayed their climb; And countless unknown fruits hung from
The Gorge
The travelers had reached a gorge Whose darkness they would have to breach. The mountaintops lay far ahead— “Such darkness has a lot to teach,” The master said while looking down The river gorge’s darkened depths— The frightened boy sighed deep, and looked
Black Mountain Clouds
A horde of gaunt gossamer clouds Came drifting through the gloomy sky— Thick mists poured down over the peaks, Wafting about the frigid air —Like vapors from a witch’s spell— Bubbling, foaming, frothing, until The sable brim was overflowed, And curses on cursed pinions flew.
The Foggy Trail - Philosophical Vignettes
A master and his student stood Before a foggy mountain trail; They thought about their lives and all The mysteries of Earth’s dark veil. “I long to make discoveries, I long to know the truth of things —To capture wisdom of my own— And all the joy such treasure brings.”
The Foggy Peaks - Philosophical Vignettes
The peaks were barely seen that night—they hid Among a sea of aster-painted clouds. The skies were filled with stars that shone like pearls Strewn on the shoals of treasure-laden isles. The sage and pupil journeyed on, although Beholding neither earthly fields below
That was excellent. Very timely in my life to read this.