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Hilltop: A Literary Paper. Volume 1 Number 2

I Tempest

I Tempest

On this ravined plateau
The snow winds vastly race
Across their barren fields
From sky to empty sky.

Beneath their path not tree
Nor flower of earth attempts
To break the spell wherein
Annihilation rests.

Through their huge dreamless cry
No voice of grief or hop
But a strange unrippled stream
Flows on and on

And one sings from the storm
To one within the heart—
Your home is here, you were never
Far from its crags and gulfs.

Thus does the traveler,
Chosen in tempest, know
The green years stripped from the walls
Of chaos rising sheer.