Hilda Oakley

Australian author and poet

   Oct 27

Mountains of Peace

Blood red poppies blowing in the wind, they sway,

Like flamenco dancers near the mountains, here they lay,

Snow capped mountains rising like giant towers,

The lush green colour of the bushes and bowers.


Out of the valley, and many mountains to climb,

The view was magnificent, a touch of the divine,

My ultimate vision, my goal to be,

Healed, unburdened, alive and free.


Craggy are the mountains, jagged to the top,

I keep climbing higher, I will not stop,

Crimson was the blood oozing from my feet,

I kept plodding on through the burning heat.


Purifying as I climb to where mountain meets the sky,

Though exhausted, I felt a presence close by,

Bowing my head in this hallowed place I found,

Peace was mine at last on this sacred ground.


A stream went hurtling, burbling fast,

I could feel it cleanse me of my past,

Cushions of lush green moss were there,

A spiritual experience so precious so rare


Out of the dark tunnel of strife,

Came a burst of light that changed my life,

Where was this place, I did not understand?

But this I know, I was touched by The Master’s Hand.



Hilda Oakley

Copyright © 14.04.2012

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