They Don’t Give Back

I gave my boots to the frozen trail,

My breath to the bitter wind.

I carved my name in a barkless tree

Just to feel like I’d been.

I sang to the stars in the high tree line,

I wept where the snow turned black—

But the echoes fade, and the cold remains,

And the mountains don’t give back.

I laid my hopes by the glacier’s edge,

Let ‘em melt in the thaw of spring.

I prayed my past into chimney smoke

But the wind don’t keep those things.

I’ve buried love beneath these stones

And trust in the weather’s track—

But nothing grows where the silence goes,

And the mountains don’t give back.

They stand so tall, like they know it all,

But they never say your name.

They’ll take your time, your peace of mind,

Then leave you just the same.

There’s beauty here and something near,

But mercy’s what they lack—

You give and give, but don’t expect—

The mountains don’t give back.

I’ve seen the light through the pine-smoked haze,

Felt joy in a stranger’s laugh.

I’ve heard the hush when the morning breaks

Like a hymn in a weathered draft.

But every step is a little trade

With a cost you can’t unpack—

It’s a holy land, but an honest hand—

The mountains don’t give back.

So take what you need and leave what you must,

Speak soft, walk slow, earn the dust.

You’ll find some peace but lose some track—

That’s the deal when the road turns black.

They don’t forget, they just absorb—

Every sin, every vow you swore.

And if you go, don’t count on signs—

Just follow the shadow line.

There’s truth up there, and that’s a fact…

But the mountains—

They don’t give back.