A poem I wrote the other morning, watching the sun come up. It sort of ponders the fact that no matter how far you go east- or west- you will never catch up to them, and East and West will always have you between them.
Over the Eastern hill
Is where my heart yearns to fly,
For over her rolling, green expanse,
Begins the morning sky.
What wonders lie over yonder hill,
I wonder,
Where dawn first whispers,
And rents night asunder?
And rents night asunder?
Perhaps there froths a silver sea
Where the sun is born each day,
And how the birds would envy me
If I found Dawn's crimson bay.
For here I am, caught between East and West
Where nighttime chases day...
If I could follow o'er that hill,
Perhaps the light would stay.
So I'll journey forth,
As I have each lonely morn...
Every rise I am let down,
For each peak taunts my dream in scorn,
And yet I follow and reach the top
As the sorrow-struck sparrow trills;
And here I am again, caught between East and West:
Trapped between two hills.
© Hannah Scarlett 2012
