music on the hill
9 August 2010 § Leave a comment
there’s music on that hill up there,
can you hear its melody?
Its maker I know well, from long ago –
but our travelling souls went awry.
you want to know about him?
he was a peasant,
made of social anti-matter.
his mind was composed of
flowers you could explode
in the palm of your hand.
he wore a green jacket,
his confidence, with which
he fought against what he found,
spreading peace and decadence –
his lady’s ashes – across the ground.
his logic was a medieval gauntlet
that nobody could understand.
the process of his thought thereafter
was decidedly exhausted
by the captive denizens that were lost to it.
he once said he dreamt of you and I,
when his daughter willed her suicide,
but then he just went back to his book,
whose curtainvelvet pages
echoed questions we’d mistaken
for evidence he’d burned and overlooked.
like the clouds that hide
entire mountains in the time
it takes one of us to steal a breath
and make away like bandits,
he would counteract his presence
with comments that bought the death
of common sense, vesting himself
in the castle’s circuitous defense.
he was silent in his judgment of men,
and intrepid was his glowing glance.
and he could waterproof the earth from rain,
but his love – it was a cliffside devil’s dance.
oh child, leave me be now,
for my ears are want to hearing –
there’s music coming from that hill up there,
why don’t you go and follow it?