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Holy Hill

I crossed the river
Into the country of twelve fields.
The trees were newly green,
Breezes with that homecoming feel.
I was taken up,
Up into the heights.
We went around it three times
Then I was shown the sights.

We turned our backs to
The west and the coming night.
Great clouds of darkness
Rolled in from the ocean wide.
The little lights were stranded,
Stranded in the wailing wind,
But my vision brightened
As the daylight dimmed.

I saw the mighty
Leaders mad with reason
And the spring was broken
On the twisted wheel of the seasons.
Some swelled up with famine,
Some floated swollen in the floods,
And some men were swollen up,
Proclaiming themselves gods.

Saw a single woman,
She was loving but unwed.
Light fell around her
And by it hungry souls were fed.
Two men were speaking
Out against the wrong
And when the people heard them
They weren’t let to speak for long.

Fear consumed my eyes
And I would have asked that rock to fall
But he said, Dread not,
Lift up your eyes and stand tall.
And when I looked again
We were safe from all harm.
The breathing night had fallen,
All the countryside was still and warm.


© John Gibbens & Armorel Weston 2003


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