Posts Tagged ‘hills’

If I could spread my Arms

and embrace the Land:

the Hills- Fields- Mountains-

Forests both small and grand-

 

I would then hold

a Treasure unknown

by so many- though-

It has always- been.

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One day, I went out,

and the World Struck my Eye-

the Hills- the Grass- pleaded-

and I could only comply

 

by venturing forth

into the Warm air-

this solace, like Eternity,

was not simple- but- Fair.

Bright blue sky

winks in its sapphire gauze,

teasing. The warmth

is yet to come. The escape

is yet to come.

When these white lozenges melt,

due to the sun’s palpable tongue,

and reveal their brown undercoats,

I will climb over them

and sing into the breezes

and become a wild man-

relishing in this freedom-

if only temporarily.

To some extent my world is falling

out of balance, or I am simply reeling

out of mind.

I look up. Stars have warped into yellow-white

peacock feathers, luminous and blooming,

spreading threads of curling light.

My eyes sting.

I look at the darkening world.

The horizon glows purple

against blue haze of night.

What would be trees

are gnarled and twisted spikes

jutting up from the hills

like ugly skyscrapers.

They seem to be cut from black paper.

They are shadows dancing in a hot rain.

My eyes itch.

The whole landscape swells and distorts.

Obsidian hills and shadow-trees and purple sky

are bleeding together, melting

into a uniform nothing.

A ball of shadows and dark colors.

I rub my eyes.

Tears fall.

My world rights itself.

Voice setting with the sun,

plunged into violet darkness-

this, the realm of twilight,

smells as crisp and empty as tap water.

Wind roars, it ripped what sounds I could make

from me. It over powers me-

sharp and ever-present as a carving knife.

I struggle to produce

even the slightest whisper, but

even the sound of my breath is extinguished

by rushing noise as I stand

on this hill, overlooking the shadowy twilight sky.

I have nowhere to go,

the wind assaults me in battering gusts

from every angle.

I stand like a scarecrow on this brown hilltop.

My throat is tired– burning and twinging,

yielding nothing.

I hang my head in defeat.

Dirty brown clouds have hidden the stars.

Humped backs

of giants dead

or sleeping.

You present yourselves

as places of song,

absent of stillness;

fuel my desire for freedom

to rush wildly over

and feel like a bird

soaring under seethes

of golden, snapping grasses

which decorate you.

The city behind,

stuckĀ as

a stopped clock,

is eclipsed in grandeur.

Small or large

you curve, wave-like,

ever onward,

illuminating promise of future,

and quickening my heart

with your majesty.

In this sight,

you are The Kingdom.