A Holy Hill

by AE
Be still: be still: nor dare
Unpack what you have brought,
Nor loosen on this air
Red gnomes of your thought.

Uncover: bend the head
And let the feet be bare;
This air that thou breathest
Is holy air.

Sin not against the Breath,
Using ethereal fire
To make seem as faery
A wanton desire.

Know that this granite height
May be a judgement throne,
Dread thou the unmoveable will,
The wrath of stone.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.