The Hill

I don’t know where else I’ll find a rustling wind 

Moving and reminding me of life.

Everywhere seems so still

But here the earth still shakes 

Shimmies and dances,

So of course soon it will be killed. 

Like everywhere else of natural value

Humans are like death machines

Sucking away the rustling wind.


My own despair on seeing behind the veil of reality

Of how we are here, but arbitrarily

And the universe traverses on

Its timelines untroubled by our small concerns

And by this I mean the birth and the death of humans

So with our brief and imperfect senses

How I feel we should live here but lightly

Is not shared. So they continue to seal the tomb 

Of the earth.


The small and temporary bliss I feel when I stand here on this hill

Is like the small and temporary bliss of living at all


And it will inevitably end