Categories
Poetry

Quiet on a Hill

I close my eyes, my foot on a chair.

Pots clang. Time flashes,

bright and loud.

Could there be just me and the stars?

Me and my hands on dry earth?

My heart glows at the thought.

And I run, and I run from the noise.

And I run and hold tight to the sweet,

sweet moments of quiet on a hill.

Exhaustion is the arrow to peace.

Peace is the home that waits for me

always.

Photo by nicollazzi xiong on Pexels.com

By brookecutler2

Liver of life, lover of everything. đź’•

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s