Isolation Poem by Phillip Alan Green

I sit in isolation,
Upon this woody hill,
Darkness, my clothes surround me,
The heavens are my will.

Whispers form to secrets,
To carry on the wind,
To long forgotten memories,
To tell them of this sin.

I look into black I stare,
To face my greatest fears,
I know are lying out there,
So far but yet so near.

If the night she had lips to speak,
What secrets would she birth?
What hidden valleys would she seek,
To uncover hidden earth.

But my thoughts are best left unheard,
To lie in ground to rust,
For worse than death are the wrong words,
That turn ones life to dust.

So fly into the night my speech,
To keep the demons bayed,
A promise to which no one will reach,
I take unto my grave.