The Valley

We live on separate mountain peaks.
We rest upon their grandeur.
We touch the clouds
And hug the stars
That mark for us
Which world is ours.

Below we see the busy lights;
The people rushing by;
A town awake, a town asleep,
Residing at each mountains feet.

Once we called these mountains home;
We held them dearly as our own,
But time and change have washed away
The worlds that we had hoped would stay.

Home to us became a blur,
A memory that we wished we were,
Until horizons taught us both
That home is more than what we’d known:

Home is not a summit
Home is not a peak
Home is passing through the valley
To love those that we seek.

© Jeremiah Dowling 2012


About Jeremiah Dowling

I write poetry and take crazy pictures in an Orange Chair all over the United States while reading amazing books.

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