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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #1434184
It is a poem about the mind, though you are to find your own meaning.
We sat upon a barren hill,
Though being only one.
This hill had leveled to a plain,
To reflect the setting sun.
And through this doing,
Night fell fast, and the three of us
United at last.
The battle of day was won.
We lit a pyre; none deceased.
By mournful dawn,
Two souls released.
In the embers of the dying flame,
Two souls took their leave: again.
Left at loss, at the top of the hill
stood the only, though not at all real.

                                                    5/31/2008


                                                 
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