The Hill of Crosses


This poem is inspired by a recent visit to the Hill of Crosses in Šiauliai, Lithuania. 


Ashed grey and weathered through

Surrounded some century’s

Past suffering not so different from our own.

 
To come and lay a sign

That love releases to save

Black memory’s, solidify some erotic emotions alluring

 

And then wander up and through the woven pathways

A child’s playground

Spiritual maze from loud cries of women weeping

 

To look up from the ground at them

And see some serialist horror

Scraped and scourged graveyard rituals

 

Only to feel also

peaceful serenity from suffering’s rock

Flowing with the river that sits alongside

 

Then to the other end

To realising that the mass continues

Around for acres of simple honoured vessels

Our Streets

I encountered more people

With faces, sunken

Cut through with a cold stone blade

Blinked- then an opportunity missed

For here, now to give wider

No eyes to see change

Through skin so scaled and rusted

That your copper coin sticks fast

To make a golden impression to

Listen and answer the rattling

Of the links untied through neglect

One by one to convince them

That the world’s hope is to dust

And passers by are too busy to give a thought to change a

World’s eye view

 

Through a hole in the wall

They now can see the flowers

In the gardens we dance

Striving for wilting dandelions find

Peace of mind to sing of love

We- the deaf who walk close each time

To the silent hum of our eye lined bubble because

You don’t want to know, and you don’t have to

Play- pretend sublimity, oblivious fun

You are the most through dust on the ground

The creaking-jointed human

Kind of the broken wanderer

Who need us as we are and ask for

No more.

street-wallpaper-3