Peak

The Peak, stood there defiant,

a master surveying it's employee

a proud dictator of the

old world order.

A Pick, was used against it

iron and diamond. The workers hand

sweat and blood trying to drill,

break throught.

To Peek, the curtain where all corruption

is height upon , compared and given smiling,

on a take-away box or a

fortune telling cookie.

A Pick, carved the proud stone mountain.

When tired, rested in it's jade green curves

of water and trees.

To Peek, the end of the fight,

as man falls on he's knees; a bow.

Divinity entangled on the maze

of mirrors and steel.

The Peak smiles of love for the

little brave man and impressed,

bends slowly towards the sea: a bridge.