The Hanging Hills

Took a walk, again, up in the hanging hills,
Trying to avoid my upcoming tear spills,
Trailed my feet through drifts of fallen leaves,
Took only what i honestly received,
Slowly trailed up the path to the summit,
The clearing in the woods was sun-lit,
Threw my bag down, and stood with arms wide,
Cried out to the gods, but they never replied,
Span on the spot, kicked down a sapling,
Killed the basic tendrils of a new spring,
Sat down with my head in my hands,
And cried as i gazed upon the meadow-lands,
The minute detail on the greenest bud,
Birds tracks in the deep brown mud,
Tossed pebbles vacantly down the hill,
Watched a buzzard dive for the kill,
Bit back the painful broken sobs,
Watched the rabbits in the fresh corn cobs,
Clawed with desperation at the earth,
Tried to give up my life's entire worth,
Sought clarity and peace of mind,
But neither did i ever find,
Stared with eyes unfocused at the sun-sett,
Stood there still under the stars silver net,
Ignorant to the amazing beauty around me,
Only one persons face could i see,
Conjured from a photo and memories,
A tale unworthy of my sorrowful stories,

Author's Note

Another excellent mood swing of mine.