The Hill.

He tells me, that he has seen heads swiped
clean from their body.
Their aftermath, more naked than the day
that they were born.
I cling to his fragile youthful hands
swabbing the violence from the fragments of his vision.

I found him – fallen here
in this place where you know you are mortal.
The landscape no longer distinct, outside the rutted roads
now strewn with the bone remains of shrunken men.

He will have had so many expectations –
Roads to travel – girls to fill his head with lustful dreams.
What now in this shrinking of his closing pain.

What I said about this was much less, than I saw
as I took my unhappiness, and headed up the hill…

Poppy ~xx~
March 17th 2015
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One thought on “The Hill.

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