Touch the Clouds

I glance up and understand,

Seven thousand feet below,

The valley people don't know,

You can hold clouds in your hand.

On a grand mountain high,

Cloud touching is an easy task,

Merely stretching and a slight grasp,

Makes the impossible a reality nigh.

Below they grumble and foment,

Stuck in the basin rut and unable to dream,

Self incarceration in hatred teem,

Are those who treasure jealousy and resentment.

If they would bother to climb,

Hence witness dreams in reality elated,

That even below dreams can be deftly recreated,

In an enlightened dance of mime.

I extended my body to the limit,

Climbed my Mountain of affection,

Physical effort giving my Soul resurrection,

My understanding no longer a state of prohibit.

Aspirations no longer concealed by shrouds,

Of physical reality's apparent frustration,

I now know regardless of my physical location,

That I can reach up and touch the clouds.

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