Red Hill Poem by D.C. Malone

An arch of doves hangs over my head
Like a piece not meant to be performed
Every time I go step outside
It's as if I've fallen in love with every person I never known
A dalliance done alone while also beside others

A halo of inspiration built of the clouds and myself floats above
My feet patter on the earthy ground
Like wild hares scurrying home
As I leave Red Hill in search of self creation
During the first light of the dawn

The flowers
Sculpted like cupid's bows
Dyed with the color of hard work
Linger without me
As folk pick them and put them in pots
Built from the clay
Taken from the still beating heart of the hill

It is then that I see it for all but a second
An architectural composition that only nature itself could produce
And under its clouded roof
All of mankind
Picking scarlet olives from their branches
To feed its own hunger

As I stand there
With the wind trying blowing me apart
My sketchbook in hand
I think to myself
'What a privilege I have;
For boredom is not given to those with hard lives
And I have the time of day to be still
To nourish my imagination with humanity's red olives'