My Hill Poem by Thomas Warren

Over in the distance,
I can see my house from here.
Over the sky the clouds dance,
away from me they take my fear.
I do believe in ghosts,
but only those of my own making.
Languid ghouls that try me to coax,
they follow me to every place I go,
only taking.
But they can't follow me
To My Hill.

Sometimes other people sit in my spot,
but it is not Their Hill, it is mine.
They will come and go, but I will stay.
Often I may sit on the swings and watch
people play cricket in the field below.
I watch them as though they are insects,
with a mix of intrigue and confusion;
like they are a member of some other race,
from some other time, some other place.
I watch the birds fly over and wonder,
what is going through their mind.

I ponder what is love, about life.
I ponder about the meaning of things.
I know my musings will bring nothing new,
but they help me rise up from life and it's trappings.
And when I re-enter this world again
I'm a happier man.
And it makes me realise why birds do soar
above you mankind.
Simply because they can.