Monk

The sun does not reach my eyes in time for the procession

monks had proceeded down the depression

I wake with a start, don my robes

run up the mountain to see them below

I see a stream of fire, orange robes ablaze

flowing down like lava, a path to carve

their chants fly like birds over the ranges

rise into my ears echo through the ridges,

I observe my own robes, pale in comparison

I stand on the edge, waver to be risen

the climb had been long and hard

a journey alone, no one to hold a hand

turning back is not an option joining them is deception

right or left, I can choose a path, whatever the destination

the sun sky high with mystical illumination

the monks bathe in lightness, shadows my culmination.