boy on the hill

Clamouring and climbing up the hill with a cantankerous racket, he shouted the secrets of his soul to the minute village below. And these simple folk - bless their little hearts - did not understand a single word he said. They heard only noise, and so they prayed like good folk do. They prayed that the poor boy would find solace in the heavens to which he walked and peace would again be instilled upon their community. But peace never came. Yet still they prayed:

Dear God,
Please save the poor boy on the hill
whose wretched heart he does spill
across this once quiet land.
Please listen to us, Father
for together we stand
to convey to you our bother.
Your will, be he silent
He sounds rather violent
Please Lord, please
put his heart at ease.



They prayed and prayed and prayed. But still, dischordantly, the boy bellowed from the hill series after series of mournful sounds.