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To Die Upon A Tall Mountain

To Die Upon A Tall Mountain (So That No One Will Ever Find My Corpse) The granite spine against the fading blue, A lonely perch where wind forever sighs, This is the place I choose to bid adieu, Beneath the watch of cold indifferent skies. No weeping willow near this barren stone, No soft earth yielding to a measured grave, I seek a silence where I am unknown, A final rest the soaring eagles crave. The climb itself a penance for the soul, Each upward step a shedding of the past, To reach a point beyond the world's control, Where mortal ties are finally uncast. The valley shrinks, a painted, distant thing, Its clamor muted by the rising height, And on the air, the wild clear breezes sing A song of freedom in the failing light. I leave no map, no whispered word behind, No broken branch to point the seeking eye, Let nature take what she is pleased to find, And let my bones among the scree stones lie. The moss will cling, the lichen softly creep, A shroud woven of grey and emerald thread, While down below, the busy mortals sleep, Unknowing where their silent brother fled. Perhaps a fox, with curious, knowing nose, Will brush against the fabric of my coat, Or patient snow, in silent, drifting rows, Will pile a drift around my resting throat. The sun will warm the stone where I repose, The moon will cast a silver on my face, And no one living ever shall disclose The secrets held within this hidden place. I do not fear the passing of the years, Nor the slow work of frost and sun and rain, To mingle dust with ancient, stony tears, And know the sweet release from every pain. Let memory fade like mist before the day, Let history forget the name I bore, To simply rest, and slowly waste away, Where only eagles ever come to soar. No marble slab to bear a boastful name, No marble chipped by careless human hand, Just endless sky and this consuming flame Of solitude I finally understand. The mountain keeps its counsel, strong and deep, It holds its secrets close against its breast, And I shall join the slumber that they keep, A silent vigil in this lofty nest. When spring returns with tentative green hue, It will not find a monument to mourn, But scattered fragments where the cold winds blew, A memory that never can be born. The hawks will circle, utterly unbent, The clouds will drift without the least concern, My final wish, entirely spent, Is that no living soul shall ever learn. This summit grants the ultimate release, To be absorbed by grandeur, vast and whole, To find in stone a perfect, lasting peace, And lose the burden of a seeking heart. The stars tonight are sharp and fiercely bright, They watch the slow procession of the dark, I welcome now the everlasting night, Leaving behind no single, telling mark. ©Jack Cavendish 2026 art credit : remote mountain, British Columbia