A poem I wrote a long time ago

Ranges

The Himalayas are young and Zen,
Though Appalachia is not, and riddled.
Appalachia recounts:

I don't have appreciable mass
Nor have I contrivable mirth
I am a considerable match
An intolerable myth
of history in destruction.

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This poem, like most poems I wrote in this period of my life, is essentially a dialogue between my unconscious and the dictates of form. As a result, I can't say I know fully what it means, although it seems like I was having some issues with the aging process. When I wrote the poem, the phrase "An intolerable myth" rang like a bell in my consciousness after I had penned the previous three lines. In any event, I've always liked this poem, so I am sharing it. :)