In the spirit of exhuming old works from the grave, I give you Man on a Hill. Circa 2002.
Man on a Hill
On the day of the night
when the world caved in,
a man sat, silent, on a hill.
His watery eyes
raised high to the sky,
his hands
clutched tight to a bowl.
The bowl, at first sight,
seemed lost
and forlorn.
But the second
told you no lies.
The sky wept here once
with rains of regret
and the core of the earth
peered from within.
When thunder began
and wails of rape sang,
the man sat quietly still.
KJ Hunter 