The Blue Ridge Mountains,
Wreathed in rolling sheets of mist,
Now carry my heart.
A shovel and hike,
Beyond these paths less taken,
In a still clearing,
Where brooks weep for a lost land,
I buried my heart,
In a stony grave so dark,
Night skies flowed inside,
So calm, black stillness.
The shovel scraping,
Like a farewell aria,
Drew up a thick mist,
Salt-stained with my weary tears,
Until my breath stopped,
And the mountains fell away:
My scattered mindscape,
Drips with misty sighs.
It’s a long drive home,
Through these twisted, foggy trails,
Like unending dreams.
Discarded Recollections 
Absolutely beautiful, Masa. I live in the Blue Ridge mountains and truly relate to this piece.Love it.💕
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Those mountains have haunted my dreams the past few weeks. Lovely, but troubling to my mind. A nice balance, all said.
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They are pretty special.💕
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Beautiful imagery, but so sad.
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Thank you kindly for the comment. I wonder if the narrator is still up there, lost in those sprawling valleys and foggy nights?
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