The Hills

Poetry Rules:
1. If you have a single thought, good or bad, post it.
2. All constructive criticism welcome
3. You may not say a poem is good or bad without saying why.
4. Right now I'm in the writer's block of the century. I seriously have about 5 pieces that I actually like. So, in order to help me, leave a topic for me to write about- not a silly one and nothing broad like God or love, be specific.

The Hills
By: Sarah Dixon

Through gray day
I look to see it's end
-Where golden rays are chased
over dirt's unkempt hills and
stray flits of light reflect the
slipping of each burning rod
from hands that hope to keep
the hills from taking.
Though I push through fog's thickness,
I cannot see past the burn scarred hands
that hold the dense curtain open for the view.

I scream of day to but whisper
whether love has been slipped
into her hands to feed to me as I
curse the thought of seduction powers
to prostitute life as they please,
yet warn one who begs for signs:
-accede to charity, make nothing
of life that's a staggering fool,
who laughs through sobs
and raises his faithless voice
at every first cloud of morning.

I beg of God, do tell,
do raise fog's thickness and promise
to loose my hands from the unbearable heat
of today's last rid of goldenness
-if next day shows whether it holds love for me
or tells I should loose my heart from holding what
day's maker will not give and wait for another
rising over dirt's blessed and stealing hills.