All angels fly to the Bridgers.
Begin the final waltz towards heaven’s gates.
“Cast off your mortal coils” and
desert the stones weighing you down
leave them at My base.
Exhaust My indefinite boundaries
climb to the hole in the sky.
When you arrive
you have already gone too far.
No longer a visitor,
but a resident.
When I see a mountain I like to think
Why else are the Bridgers here?
A beacon for lost souls
A religion traced back to the open sky.
Spinal tap back to nature.
The original uplift proclaiming
be still sweet soul.
The mountain stands taller than the dead.
A stone falls easier than an angel.
I admit my envy.
Nothing is final except the mountains we carry with us.
now I kiss death.