I tried to run away
to the shining, towering city.
I tried to pray,
begged something holy to take pity.

It was foolish to think
there exists a power higher
than the mountains that gently sink
to embrace those we buried prior.

As surely as they wear down,
they raised me to love
like the people of my little town
that greed nearly disposed of.

So, here I stand:
home once more,
barefoot upon ancestral land.
Suddenly, there’s someone to stand for.

I found them gasping for air
beneath smothering kudzu vines.
The mountains hear my prayer
for the children of the mines.