Treasure Island

Michael Wride

(December,5th 1968 / Wells, Somerset, England, UK)

Alone on a Hill Top

All alone on a hill top,
Somewhere under a billion stars,
Trying to comprehend,
What does it all mean?

Feeling so insecure,
Like two of me here,
Arguing at my interpretations,
Of this mystery called existence.

A yellow moon rises slowly,
From behind flickering clouds,
They are flecked with a red tinge,
Moved slowly by the wind,
The hint of the light in this darkness,
A hint of the truth in their lies.

Submitted: Saturday, January 26, 2013
Edited: Saturday, January 26, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Another night poem written around 1990. I would go to my favourite hill overlooking the moors - trying to reconcile my insignificance and yet my importance in the Universe. And why there seemed to be so many people living a lie about what is important in life and trying to convince me to buy into their way of seeing things.

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