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Grant Hill Poem
The vice grip tightens, the juniper breeze blows
Good and evil are as one and so very close
Praise that which gives you what you will
But is it truly what you need
Finding bliss in ergonomic thoughts
Brings about the lethargy of the free
Empty and vain, a world of tears
Flows like waves of entombed fears
In the final blast a whimper will be made
The silence will tear through colonnades
It will be heard and forgotten at once
For that is the state of being
Fearful and corrupt
Copyright © Grant Hill | Year Posted 2015
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Grant Hill Poem
Dulled, not sharp enough to cut through calloused skin
Faded and used, bruised from falling too many times
Apathetic reactions, no need for emotional value
Dried of tears and fears, lack of feeling is always the worst fate
Relapsed on sympathy for myself and filling back full of hatred
At least feeling can return growing wings without the ability to fly
So weep for a world so cold and dark, weep for forsaken souls
There was never room for hope it was merely a narcissistic guise
How can anyone find a home along these winding streets
Covered in black water and sleet, frozen heart barely able to beat
Fishing without a pole only leaves these hands to hold disgrace
Hungry people starve for attention forgetting to learn to see
Filthy and desolate is where we lay our heads
Fighting thought until the very end
When whispers are louder than shouts
The living envy the dead
Copyright © Grant Hill | Year Posted 2015
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Grant Hill Poem
A long lost love flickers and fades
A page turned, a memory stored, in this theatrical drama of life
Lonely thoughts overcome reason
Another failure to obey the powerful and remain the blissful oppressed
An action taken under guise
A siege is enacted to tear down the walls that stand so tall
Fading senses and forgotten tastes
A longing, a pining, for the unknown only obtained by the unhappy
Forever talks of whim and wines
Struggling peons abound, tilling the earth for worthless scraps
An eerie tale of carrion crows in foggy vales
Cannibalistic cravings never satiated, and never replaced
Copyright © Grant Hill | Year Posted 2015
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Grant Hill Poem
A king aged by years of toil and triumph, failure and tyranny
His hair white and wispy, a crown of mist over a weary head
His lips blue from the winter frost, no warmth remains
The king who sits upon a throne of iron and stone, cold and barren
Lies his land, ravished and raped are the memories of what once was
His head drops over a chest of bone covered with a white skin sheet
Failure has consumed all he was, and all he could ever be
For in a tattered past there were flowers and fields, a radiant sun
The sun has been washed out by tendrils of black cloud
The flowers stiff and brown, the earth dry and cracked
Nefarious imps plot and scheme for meaningless toggles and gems
A world broken, as the man, retiring from this life
Copyright © Grant Hill | Year Posted 2015
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Grant Hill Poem
Hello mother it’s been too long since I first left, oh so long
I’m sorry for the vile and debasing actions I have done
I cry the blood of a thousand men
I have lost my heart and hope it will be found
What do you say, for I know you cannot hear my words, as I lie in silence
I know you cannot see me in this grey damp cell, as I lie in darkness
I have lost myself in a labyrinth, do you know the way out
My strength is gone, I haven’t the time for forsaken prayers as all lights turn out
Copyright © Grant Hill | Year Posted 2015
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