The Hills I Sorrow At Poem by Martin Greyford

Percussion sound I make
In my mind
With the rhythm
Of my breath

No strings
Nor the sound of pipes;
It's just my mouth
Humming about

The sentiments of my life.
The wind is doing
A lot of help
By

Clustering the branches
Of the trees
And the birds chipping
As they fly off,

Because of the noise
My heart is making.
There's a deep throb
And a giant thud

As I climb
The hills to the top
To make my tears known
To the sun.

Maybe they'll dry up
And the sweat of my body
Will eventually stop
For I am tired

Of bathing
In the river of my sorrows
And the lake
Of my sweat.

Everybody has deserted me
Except for the stick
I use to climb
The hills I sorrow at.

I'm all alone
Talking to the troubles
Within me
And having that -

Unending conversation
With my lips -
For words flow out
Like water -

Falling from a falls -
Words of lamentation,
Emotional stress
And I don't know the last

But its bitter
Than the sting of a bee
More stinky
Than the fart of a skunk.

Insects, ants, flies
Have literally
Become my friends -
They stick around me,

Listening to the sentiments
Of my bitter life.
The lizards just nod
Any direction

Doesn't care if am crying or not.
A mosquito id better off
It cries out loud
And makes me quite.