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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Death >> ID #331556 |
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Cemetery Hill From cemetery hill I watch the earth rotate Create gravity Drag sun from sky. Gravity tears down A one-horse textile town. Their generation’s pride Raised from fertile earth, But those of us who followed Misunderstood its worth. Discarded husk Time and weather turn brick to dust. Weeds sprout in crackled pavement, Rusted water tower dots the sky. From end to end, it fits my hand, So small, so very small, From up on cemetery hill. Griffith packed his van Left home for greener ground, Trying to escape cemetery hill Where uselessness abounds. Gone, the pretense of purpose, Half-life haunts my past And future. So many days spent. Just what’s a man’s aim Anyway? I stretch long legged in mowed grass Earth’s rotation drags clouds past The living earth vibrates my back, Buddhist drone of bees Buttercups bloom perfectly I revel in the sensory. The ladybug knows, Funny, how I never noticed. The mossy stone sets crooked And the willow weeps leaves Upon the sunken place. I cock my head, then cross my arms, I won’t come down from cemetery hill.
© Copyright 2002 Harlow Flick (UN: wolfgang at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Harlow Flick has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |