A man from the mountains and high country places where blue ribbon glaciers hang like time’s ancient veils.
Dark timbered basins and age hidden trails winding down through the valleys to where the South wind prevails.
The creak of my saddle, a cool breeze in my face, solemnly thankful to ride alone in this place.
A land long forgotten by today’s modern race, hidden from the hustle of life’s hasty pace.
Clear mountain spillways and soft singing brooks, nothing to fear from the world’s guiltless crooks.
High soaring Eagles and free roaming bears, living life’s wonders without debt laden cares.
A land without faces, empty and cold, no place for the timid, the weak nor the old.
A place seldom traveled by the empty at heart, those missing life’s lessons, deaf to the music of a Wapiti’s challenging cry.
I walk amongst you in your buildings of steel, a land without faces where a smile is surreal.
A place far to busy for a youngster to know, the warmth of a home life, of a kitchen’s welcome glow.
A land without faces, filled with store fronts and greed, passing by the homeless and needy without the slightest of heed.
A land without faces, of multitude races, a land without hope, near the end of its rope.
Jammed city places, traffic that races, sirens wail, the wrong go to jail, gangs on street corners and over worked coroners, in your land without faces where life quickens by.
You pass each other with a cold hollow eye, never as much as a halfhearted “Hi”.
I walk amongst you as you search for your gold; you’re missing life’s treasures, forgetting the old.
With a deep rooted sadness, a life without gladness, you stumble down life’s rocky trail, destine to end up weak, timid and frail.
What of life’s lessons, the forgiveness of transgressions, the joy of helping those in need, the light hearted feelings of forgotten greed.
Your world without faces of small cubical places, has lost it’s
Lustrous glaze, as I find myself bewildered on your streets of a tangled maze.A door held wide for some oncoming folks, “Yes ma‘am“, “No sir”, “Ma’am if you please”, you cast a sideways glance like I’ve a contagious disease.
Dark and weathered under this black Stetson hat, subject of your glances, pointed fingers and whispered chat.
I am but a mystery, something odd and untold, dressed like an outcast, from the land of the old.
High topped boots, long riding coat, bright colored kerchief, weathered hat brim, cold piercing eyes from the shadows there in.
I find it now a burden to want to remain any longer in your world of fear and pain, for I long to return to my high country places, to a rough and unforgiving “land without faces.”
Ron Arnett
"A man from the wilderness”
