The Hill Part I
The sun went down past the hill,
setting in the west, drowned in the depths.
Slumbering among faceless shadows,
fingers of rain reached out to the moon
as it drifted away with my hope.
Streets grow dark and cold, so hard to keep on walking,
but this dream doesn't die:
I woke at sunfall so the light wouldn't shine through
the love I lost, in days gone past – but still, I can't truly dream.
In the night, I walk by myself and if I knew him,
then maybe we could get along.
I wake again and it's a pity, I ought to remain asleep.
I am never-ending hunger that not once paid for a meal.
I runaway and hide where none can find me.
Undeserving of anything, my instinctual instinct is preservation.
I ought to die in the red sea, bleedout, spill it all into the night –
it'll run black as ink staining the feet those who fled.
For I am the Hill where the sun sets upon my love –
the grave, I sit beside. The sun bleeds red as my bruised heart.
The sunrises in the east, swelling in snow speckled skies till
the sun went down past the Hill.
DU LIEST GERADE
The Dragon Became a Modern Poetaster
PoesiePoetry is a dance of words, a guise of flesh, and a reprise of thought. The myths of old are forgotten on modern tongues. Such adventurous spirits seek new vessels - fresh words to don and call their own. We shall write them home, you and I. Let the...
