Such mountains we have to climb to reach the top to see a wider view. The world as we know it changed for now, ready to be rebuilt. That is what you do when things fall apart so horridly. We discover how we need one another and how alike we are in wanting the same kinds of things; make friends and allies and work towards a greater good. You decide what part you can play in the rebuilding process. You help one another. You use the skills you have for what you know the best. You support where you can. Being there for one another is important, for those you care about. That is enough if that is all you can do. Strength and courage, hope and love. Think on these things. It’s a bumpy ride. What to keep in mind then? That you want good things to happen. That all that is bad, needs to stop, its senselessness will destroy all we love. The cruelness, viciousness, all of it will end, as it needs to do so. It needs to be unacceptable all over the world. We can reinvent ourselves. We need to overcome the past to do that. We need to find our way into the present. We need to be better as a whole than we are right now. Now a poem written by me earlier in my life. It’s about seeing things differently and more.

~I Came To The Mountains~

I came to the mountains, my mind overflowing turmoil. I had seen it coming as the rotting of the snow. Causing a flood of waters, weeping. Recalling, idealized illusions in reverse. An aroura, in haste it did seem. Damming the mater in its ecstasy. Effecting, dominating; it came on____. The illusion, the archipelagos of objects to cling to, useless in the wake. There, the mountains and I. Deep and dark the impressions on things, alive the lifeless, but in their restraints. A will scarecrow I became. To be as such? I went to the mountains to find they had come to me! Not so gregarious the atmosphere.

Seasons coffins lay aside. Lingered, not so close did I! For a fifth! Nearby lay open for me to peer. No comprehension came to me. Stunned, no will of things to be. Those moments taught me well. The headstone, upon it lay a broken flask waiting to be replaced. Hope with in came spilling out as beauty once held within. Now crispness partook its look. I sighed. As it spoke to me. “Four the headstones that have script, the fifth, nothing written upon it yet! Waiting, smooth its face does shine! With polished coolness it begs you near!” But I? Turning away from this scene; I walk a near valley in quiet thought. Echoing footsteps follow me. Hurried on did I. Stopping for hours as years had passed. Finding the mountains unchanged. I knew, seasons coffins still lay aside, a fifth upon it nothing writ; to trouble me.

A motion, a vision arrested my sight! Darkly clad figures that laughed. Outstretched limbs that pointed, they seemed to mock me! The through back their capes to behold such light! Shocked, I sat to find only solid ground. Then I saw ugliness pass away, that hideous hand that sought to grab my heart. It had become a root meant to bind me. But I had become more in my travels of turmoil’s. My thoughts reclaimed. My self all seeing but unaccepting now. A feeling of falling into place. No longer the puppet on strings. I was quick to find the path to lead me downward into green meadows. Eyes open, not shut by fear or indifference. I laughed out loud! Happiness and grace, dignity, love, belief in self, trust walk beside me. I set myself free!

P. J. Moulton (Nunes) 1973 Poem, slight changes in punctuation 2026. I was still in high school then. It was recommended by several teachers that I be serious with my efforts to write. That one day I should publish this poem. I felt I need to grow into it because I had a lack of experiencing life. Now, I think it grew into me.

I do not give permission to publish my work to others.