The Hills Beyond

A poem about loss.

Image Credit: 
Public Domain

The hills beyond, look on.
Impassive, chalk-made
A trigintillion coccoliths,
Heaved up into the sky by a god’s ill-tempered will.
Dead yet alive, they lay in memorial to life so ancient,
So remote, not one man cannot comprehend their meaning.
Together; apart.

This still air a languid breath, a summer haze,
Nesting you somewhere in the folklore of my thoughts.
Hark!
A magpie’s alarm.
A flash of white and black
Offering me a suspicion of things untoward,
They scuttle off, leaving only what is now past.
You stood there, once,
Long ago.

The hills beyond, look on.
I am here, they say.
I am here and you are there
Gazing at each other o’er time long spent.
Are we now so remote to one another?
Our lives separated by a valley of histories,
Of crofts and cottages long since abandoned
Places we once called home.

Somewhere, hidden lives move in the afternoon silence
Ephemeral shadows in the glades and vales of what was.
Father, mother, daughter, son.
Husband; wife. Friend.
I miss you. I miss us,
I miss the we.
Miss the we, we once were.
I miss the places where only sheep now deign to graze the earth.

I look on at the hills beyond.
With reverence I hold you gently to my bosom.

GPD has been writing for many, many years, under many, many aliases, all of which lend character to their distinctive writing style.

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