The Meeting Place
When the wind swept round the hill top
and the trees bent low
We stood at the foot and watched
the rituals unfolding.
No sound. We saw the wind
draw its knives,
and the High Priests cloaks
billow red,
as they reached out to possess them.
We started to walk
with weightless steps
up the hill side,
between silent, glowering
stone walls,
following the beckoning arms
of the Priests.
We knew where we were going,
hand in hand,
out onto the open hillside,
towards the bowing trees.
We knew.
As the sweeping, cutting wind
carried, past the trees
and down the hill,
towards us,
the victims sighs.
davicletay 11/2003
When the wind swept round the hill top
and the trees bent low
We stood at the foot and watched
the rituals unfolding.
No sound. We saw the wind
draw its knives,
and the High Priests cloaks
billow red,
as they reached out to possess them.
We started to walk
with weightless steps
up the hill side,
between silent, glowering
stone walls,
following the beckoning arms
of the Priests.
We knew where we were going,
hand in hand,
out onto the open hillside,
towards the bowing trees.
We knew.
As the sweeping, cutting wind
carried, past the trees
and down the hill,
towards us,
the victims sighs.
davicletay 11/2003
