Something Moved Across The Mountain

Across your feelings with my burning cigar
are those loosed moments of bedmatics and spinjitzu.
Without you I will always pretend about been dead,
so I am resurrected through some word voodoo.
The mountain will watched me move like my tail,
and give me hope like a soldier’s whip,
Even when I cry let the rain fall with a noisy hush.

Neither your trees or roots will hold my time,
against every wind in its prime
answer the call echoing through your hills
not just by rainfall, but by nightfall.
Hold tight my muddled feelings, squeeze it
over and over again, repeat your howling.
Open are my arms for you to rock me
till time takes tough throws at three.

A way of moving is been still before karma
dwindling my eyes into the tears that are delayed.
If in your shadows you hear of I
direct your jabs at earth, rocks that call you dear,
In that moment alone will my memory be a khaki.

Ruddapoet [TRCP]