Death’s Knoll

The eyes are closed, wishing
For the moments to be filled

With silence and peace, unknown
To the devil that resides within.

The fists clasp, strands
Of hope in the heavy darkness

Wishing and willing dreams
Into reality, beyond the empty stares

For death’s hand does
He often seek.

Temple heights, polished pews,
Softened sandstone of modern mosques

All created and recreated
With million imprints of galloping minds

Stand in subdued silence
Counting quarters

With the face of Hope
Engraved; for the moment

Of forced exit, cosmic churning and cleansing
Shall but see the dawn.