Turiel, Angel of the Mountain


Here I remain,
under a mountain made of many hands,
all reaching and all taking.

I press my body closer to that which I must keep.
It is mine and I will shield it from the misery of other hands.

I can feel their gaze fall on it like an avalanche.

They diminish it with the weight of their indurate eyes.

But it is mine and so I will bury it in the shadow of my protections.

Their greed feeds my convictions,
So here I remain.

Here I remain under a mountain of screaming fury.

How they try to convince me to share with them
That which they are not worthy of.

“It is not yours!”
I say and say with rage boiling in my breast.

Their voices press on me,,
Hot like the sun and fogging my vision.

But there is something familiar,
Something I’ve forgot.

Here I remain,
under a mountain of mirrors.