The Silent Hill

The Silent Hill a poem by Kevin Allen

The silent hill has no resting place anymore

It is as loud and crowded as that other

The one where the noises overshadow the quiet places of rest

But there’s no resting there

Not for the wicked

Neither for the good

It is a place of eternal torment

Where even the exquisite lament

The dead, the good days gone, and those in disrepair

There the shout of heroes lost to the turnings of ages

Echo past the tormented cackle of villains

Prepping carefully laid plans in their final stage

There are no heroes there anymore

Just masqueraders weaving lore

They wear lofty capes and clothes of white

Till time comes

And the stains of desire washes purity past undone

Revealing allegories of light that shone

Once, long ago to alleviate the stains of a score

But that was another mask told

Through the forked tongue of fables

With skillfully crafted plots and effigies

That quietly opened chasms

Gurgling names of children, men, women not yet born

All toiling in their time to get back to the silent hill

On the silent hill is a road

Skillfully forged by the same old

Arms that wrote of a resting place on the hill

Dotted with temples with gleaming white walls

Displaying what would once pass for innocence

With wagging tail as if to wolf

On the land and all within it

They wish to spill blood on the silent hill

They wish to spill blood on the silent hill

Without leaving a trace of their wicked deed

Turning the once serene hill

Into a place of passionate kill

Where martyrs cry to a cause for the right

While shadows hide the speech that hides within the pale by night

They’ll send babies and old wives to spin the story though

So in hearing it is completely thorough

Once both were considered good and pure

But on that hill, nothing is sacred anymore

You will be sold your own shirt

If you would believe

Unwashed and unclean

Stolen and swaddled through the dirt

While greeted by shouting of hallelujah

Hooting and groveling while being a loving sacrifice up there

On that silent hill lost a long time ago

There’s no place to rest there anymore

Don’t you dare go

That hill is full of roses once believing there was good soil

Now though

The roses are the only things at rest up there

But even roses don’t rest silently on the silent hill

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