Hills Of College

Longing to hear child-born melodies,
that ebb and flow over Hills of College.

Reluctant to teach, crafts of death
to the brighter Angel of my Brother’s nature.

I walked in fields, dressed in hunter’s wear,
Not to cull, but to protect myself from sport-death.

Solace in solitude, life felt in death-cold,
unhaunted in this childhood place.

Speeding over snow fields, my nephew’s voice
singing joy over the ice cloaked wind.

Absorbing sweet sorrowed parting from that Angel,
who knew what was best for a soul recovery, thanks.

I was in a place of stopped time, and existed
in holy non-existence, outside of known bounds.

Peace visited and flirted, tempting belief in an
impossible dream  of a centered being.

Some flock to refinement, I followed Thoreau
and lived for a time by instinct over luxury.

And found my nature yearned for such challenge,
to stay active in my mind’s journey.