Jack Meads

(4.5.1950 / Staffordshire.)

My Hill


Sat on my hill-I laughed and cried
in equal measure till my eyes had dried.
My heart stood still then it started again,
tomorrow's future, yesterday's pain.

Sat on my hill and thought about times'
when I looked at the stars and asked them for signs,
signs for tomorrow and signs from the past'
the answers they gave left me aghast- as I

Sat on my hill and looked out to sea
saw 3 ships a sailing, coming for me
but, which should I board-when the anchors had dropped?
forgetting the fact that my shackles were locked.

Sat on my hill as the ships sailed by
a pillar of salt, like Lot's wife was I,
free to roam but, bound by the past
the shackles, the chains, still holding fast.

Sat on my hill through the darkness of night
scorned by the angels- those bearers of light.
Mocked by demons and chilled by the cold
penance for errors-misjudgements of old

Sat on my hill as dawn broke anew
and a shaft of light pierced my soul
and up I arose, the fetters gone
the shackles loosed and the locks undone.

My hill became my mountain top with me astride
and with Princely view, I knew that all was mine
that I had missed the signs of ages gone,
through blindness, fear and ill design.

Submitted: Sunday, July 13, 2014

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