The Crested Mountain

High atop the mountain crest,
The sound of distant drums,
Brothers dance at his request,
For centuries, their customs.

As his ancestors before,
Sitting, gazing into a blazing fire.
With the wind whipping galore,
Hypnotizing to the point of desire.

Reaching back into his ancestry
Looking for answers to life.
The night almost ghostly,
And maybe a bit of strife.

As he struggles with his questions,
He wants them to be just right,
Echoes in the canyons,
As they chant into the night.

It is here all answers revealed,
High atop this crested mountain,
Nothing but nothing concealed,
This spot amongst the Aspen.

As the fire blazes,
In the flames they appear,
In wonderment he gaz
But he has no fear.

For they are the sprits
He has waited for,
To enlighten all secrets,
To know what life has in store.