I have faith to feel mountains. Gladly they consent
To my odd-minded fondling. This isn’t perverse.
I must feel them to move them, and I’m feeling fine.
Others’ looks of disdain are, in essence, benign.
In these times people need to point to someone worse
Than their hated familiar ones. I feel their vent.
It’s a thing to be proud of – to be looked upon,
With no reason apparent, as one who is sick.
There are those who deserve it, yet I am the one
Who, quite near and accessible, they can then shun.
Now that I understand, I’ve devised just the trick
To improve how I serve folk by making them yawn.
I’m remembered as troubled. It’s all that remains.
I have no strong attachments. Acquaintances, though,
Inundate daily living with volatile sense
That some don’t want to know me and do take offense
At their having to see me. The place I should go
Is to that inner mountain where solitude reigns.
There Is much I can move there without the hard climb.
I have faith overwhelming with this new insight.
I’m providing good service to most folk who need
To look down on another. I urge them: Proceed!
People need to have faith that someone who’s not right
Can divert their frustrations in deed anytime.
Pastimes like Mountain Moving are karmic relief.
People know not if God’s presence would attract flies
But perhaps do consider it and stay prepared
With the sharp look of judgment that their hope be spared
That the real source of frustration sees its demise.
In the long run, I’d hope that my service is brief.