The Monk

In the deserted valley,
shadowed by ice capped giants’ glare;
a little hermit content,
away from the mountain roosting seers

In meditation,
  unheard austerity;
in oblivion lives he
who preach not what he follows

Downstream, he bathes
cleansing in virtuous’ sins;
he knows naught of
the world beyond his god within

A stormy night,
wrought misery upon;
the unknown buried,
with his peers from the sky

The landslide caved,
nature equalized;
the sordid, not more,
than the piercing judgmental eye.