St. Mountain

I carry a concrete cross
on my back
in a field of gravity
that attracts like a red sun.

Personality is magnetic,
like love, like sin,
sucks everything in
to it's core.

Roses come with thorns,
rainbows with rain,
and lovers, they bring pain.

Where ever I travel, it follows,
like my shadow at night,
like a charismatic moon
that can sway the tide.

Do I nail it to a tree?
...or wipe it out like a race.

It dwarfs like a mountain,
imposing it's grand presence.
Do I climb it?

I sacrificed it all to be a king
that rules a kingdom
of missing persons
where nobody's home
and absenteeism's at an all-time high.

Now it's just me,
that weathers
under seething sun rays
in a relentless wind

so gradually to sand, to ashes,
to dust...

...like an ego eroding.