Hills of Home

Hills of Home

A Poem by Tate Morgan
"

Bells of the town clock tower took too much from you and me Yet off to the rock and river they give of life for eternity

"


Wind ran by to kiss your cheek

round your neck our gilded hopes hung

The hand of God flowed soft within

from when he was happy and young

______________________________

Forget the nights of wanton desire

give to me not love nor tears

Evenings filled with endless dreams

bring me safe from all life's fears

______________________________

Your beauty is so great to bear

my chest hardly held its ache

For beauty more than bitter tears

will make the soft heart break

______________________________

Bells of the town clock tower

took too much from you and me

Yet off to the rock and river

they gave of life for eternity

______________________________

How often did we pass each other

o'er the long years as others do

Ne'er  once daring to ride the fire

to heavens door we never knew






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© 2017 Tate Morgan



Author's Note

Tate Morgan
This is my first attempt at something a bit abstract. So please bear with me as I learn.
In our great attempt at manifest destiny we have left so many families broken apart, estranged, lost to the winds of time. Even now we let our cities die as we build ever outward to the horizons. We are in such a hurry to make our mark on this world we forget the most important thing, home. Is any man strong enough that he never need to lean on the foundation that bore him to adulthood? As in the times of the ancient mariner we all hear the call of sirens that gesture us to sail home. Continuity of purpose flows from the wellspring of our lives. In the end we all find we are drawn inexorably home, to the hearth from around which we told our tales of long ago and spun our yarns of a life well lived. The well spent life will always beckon from the winds of change a call for home.

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Featured Review

home is many things. The hearth, heart.... it's an age old concept, not always evident in modern times. But visible or not, it's the same, "never risking once to ask the way..." What should be instinctual from cradle now is disintegrated into many disconnected parts, waiting for each one to find it and fashion it anew.... difficult task. Ah, continuity of purpose... intentions, home isn't made of serendipity... the hearth fire isn't the glow of a flat screen.... the dry, warm, quiet inner security isn't provided by gated community security....
Heaven's door, the eternal home.

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Way to step out a bit Tate, this was a wonderful mix of emotion and nostalgia and comes to a fine point. I was reading your notes and what you were saying reminded me of the video for the Avett Brothers "Head Full of Doubt" you can see it on You Tube, but it reminds me of just what you were saying. Great job.

Posted 6 Years Ago


I like the feel of the poem. I like the old trains. Where I live. You can hear them in the distance. Their sound bring back good places and people.
"Forget the nights of wanton desire
give to me not love nor tears
Evenings filled with endless dreams
bring me safe from all life's fears"
I like the song. Those old voices could make you wish for heaven when you were in hell. Thank you for photo and excellent poem.
Coyote

______________________________

Posted 6 Years Ago


I love the play with words and style! It works quite well!!

Posted 6 Years Ago


A lovely poem from you, as usual, and I appreciate the imagery.

Posted 6 Years Ago


beautiful piece tate!
as usual the music adds that magic touch,
the poem itself almost gives the feel of a song,
of a reminisce,
great work!

Posted 6 Years Ago


You need to pursue this style of writing more my friend. Your execution is beautiful.
Your beauty is so great to bear
my chest hardly held its ache
For beauty more than bitter tears
will make the soft heart break
These lines deserve a song!

Posted 6 Years Ago


I suppose most every generation laments the passing of that which they grew up with, saying, "Things were better in the old days", and to them, that may be true. I don't miss eight-track tapes, but would dearly love to see the old sense of civility return. Remember when religion and political affiliation was a personal thing that didn't get you demonized by those who differed? Yes, it's sad to see the old main streets, once so busy with shoppers, now dead---all the shoppers re-routed to the super Walmart. Surely "progress" is not always a good thing.

Posted 6 Years Ago


So true my friend...IF your home still exists! When you consider the many centuries wherein people were transient, or the lands they called "home" were taken away or they were driven out, it takes on even a more bittersweet significance that here is the USA we are so fortunate to have such a thing as generations of families all living on the same land. And even then it is often lost, or the thread is broken from one generation to the next, or land sold or families estranged. So the OH-SO-FORTUNATE go on and have that safe place to return to...which really IS sad if it is let go or forgotten. As usual you of course capture the drama and artfully embrace the relevant emotions, on of your great abilities.

Posted 6 Years Ago


Marvelous wordplay and imagery, most will relate to this in profound ways, home is where the heart is and always will be...well done.

Posted 6 Years Ago



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Added on September 25, 2011
Last Updated on September 23, 2017
Tags: : poetry, Life, Sad, adventure, mystery, pain, poem, romance, story, death, fantasy, fiction, heart, love


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A Poem by Tate Morgan