Thursday, 6 July 2017

The Old Man On The Hill

By Rory A.A. Hinton












My soul is tired from climbing
Up this sherpaless mountain.
There are no more caves
To stop in and sit down.
There are no more walls
To stare at and see through
Kwai Chang Caine's Kung Fu.

I’m at the point of exhaustion,
On the point of the mountain’s peak.
What’s the point of this exhaustive peek?
To watch a bird leave its nest,
From the top of this secular mountain,
And fly up high into the effortless sky.
Now what?