The stark blue hills
…….stand smoky soft at dawn…

Painter, poet
save them as they are today

……………  unknowing

of the forest’s thinning,
unaware they’ve been mortgaged to the hilt
by guilty men who lack the heart
to stand their ground.

Even the kind hearted grow small
against the rising sun.
Smart and modern
we adjust creation until we have no home,
but I babble…

It is the hills that stand the test of time,
Soldiers fall like leaves, trees become poor poems
and those stacks that belched their smoke stand idle.
Bricks fall, fill the empty belly of the beast that fed us.

Ivy tangles and turns brown,
…..but every evening in the shadow
of a day that’s done,
the mountains stand tall in tortured stone,

They do not fear the dark.
Come morning when the sun is at a softer slant,
the smoky haze of day gives gentler hue

to hills that clasp their hands
and stay the storm.

 

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