The Hill

Standing on this hill
Overlooking all that is still

Fearing to extend my sight
My fragile being is surely to slight

Years of toil and again no skill
As a pond that offers no thrill

Is it possible to finally delight
In a life that refuses the flight

My mind stands assaulted
By past, present and future united

And yet silence reigns supreme
Cutting through, a holy beam

An understanding that this too shall pass
And what remains is an ongoing mass

Standing on this hill
Overlooking all that is still

A sense of déjà vu
A breath of eternal woe

This war of mine, this war of ours
Running sands endless hours

The end is what you make of it
The end is what you make of it
Am I at the end of my wit?
No hill, just a pit Maybe I should just sit
Or dig down and reveal some inner grit
The weave of destiny is tightly knit
Maybe I should rest a bit
While reading through so many IT
At the end of the day I am a fit
To whatever the divine does see fit

I'll leave you now to your own writ
Of heresies that drives men to quit

I head back to my own war
While chanting no more no more…

ZC
25 November 2025