Silence is the golden rule
Watchman wary; word-hoard weary
Silver is likened unto it
Speak not two where one will do
But if your lot be more than one
The rule of bronze will be
Weigh each word with jealous heart
And just that few of which is due

The Fountain

Water winding skyward thrusting
The firmament fingered by this fountain
With vagary it varies, its movement vexing
A perplexing pattern, pleasing yet unplanned
Seen and unseen, I seek understanding
But meaning eludes, the mystery immense
Thought forsaken, I feel the flow
Rising, writhing, my heart responds
Diaphanous in the daylight, a delicate dance
Its noble spray a song within my soul


There’s nothing in these wilds
to hold me to this place,
no path to lend a purpose
to these endless vagaries.
I know this for a fact of life,
though the sparkle of the sun
does cloud this truth a day or two,
in the end it always comes
to remind me that it’s there;
like an old reliable friend


Nothing, somewhere, but raindrops falling
A bright green patch of tended earth
Marked by a sacred vow, now broken
Shattered on this stony line of land and sea
I stand apart, not sure which way to sway
But then I hear the sign; silence

The Matterhorn

A jagged spire of dull grey granite
Cuts a haphazard line across the sky
Like a jutting knife of naked earth
Alone in its somber brooding vigil
It turns its face into the biting wind
Daring the foolish to climb its slopes
A dwelling place for gods and fiends
the silent roar of wind whipped rock
Carries the sound of their awful game
They thunder death on all who approach
While dashing the mortal frames of men below
And though a thousand generations pass
It’s strength shall stay the same
Their children shall gaze upon that face
With awe the same which shook our bones.

Inspired (obviously) by this well written bit of prose and by images of the iconic mountain itself.