Just a little poem

Here's a little poem I thought of when wondering in awe about the savage nature of tree climbing Thesbians running down the street in sandals with gold and silver buckles like the moon:


Like the lapus-lazulia moundtains,
Anger flows like green stone on dark,
Cursing with its vengeance to kill, KILL!
Kill, like the darkness of my heart,
With a vengeance, like her,
Who I never saw, but alas, that dream...

What cause for hate, say ye mountain?
Curse thy children and raise thy hands?
See not Valley there?
It's smooth sloping slopes of green?

Alas, a mountain will always be a mountain.

For, twas' a mountain not a mountain,
It would ever cease to be so.