when the hills were redfilled with love and abundance
i sat down pensive every night.
my back increasingly aching,
my mind continuously racing.
my heart easy but heavy
fighting the me they see,
and the me i know.
when the hills were red
the writing poured
and ideas soared.
could i have been used
or was it the path i was walking towards?
unaware of passing time
yet interested in the forever more.
when the hills were red
though, they still are,
last summer i did not show
and though i remain unchanged
i am not the hand they came to know.
