Epochal Spot

We are mountains,
we are mountains of our own conduct,
in pursuit of our own rampant,
self restrained time of detesting upstart.

Words running through all along,
a paint that colored but not so strong,
they will play their untoward plot,
yet music it was sweet at some spot.

Mortals we, all seek a share of the sun,
but its the mountains in us masking the sun,
its the mountains in us burnt and toppled on our own,
perished and crushed us of what we had sown.