There is a hermit atop the mountain,
Who is said to have attained Truth,
And is willing to share their findings,
To those who struggle to follow them,
But when I scrambled to the summit,
Bloody, winded, and utterly spent,
Their corpse greeted me with a smile,
And whispered only silence.
Discarded Recollections 
Amazing as always.💕
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As always, you heap far too much praise upon this weary poet. Thank you, thank you.
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Never enough praise for your thought provoking pieces.💕❤️💕
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Your kindness deserves some form of monument.
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💕🙏💕
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Ohhh, so good! And that’s how it should be; once you get there, it’s your turn to sit on top of the mountain.
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I like that interpretation a whole lot. Very very clever.
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