Whispers. Poem by Ripper Jones

Over a lonely rocky hill
With melancholic ridge
I run and jump to the siren's call
Beckoning me to yonder blue mountain
An ice-capped sculpture
Made by wind and plates
Collisioned in bygone eons

I hear the sound through the vale
Wisping through undulating gorse
That withers beneath my feet
Wailing like a thousand wolves
That call to primordial ancestors
Their sweet song of being
And the longing of white bones

I feel like being borne
Up to the swept peak
Where the ice cuts the wind
Here creatures never seen
And forgotten people dwell
At last I feel at home
Away from fearful dark
Shadowing me no more