The Silent Hill

Here in the concrete jungle,
I stand alone, afraid to mingle,
with these strange, busy people,
who shout and yell, swirl and mill,
the speeding vehicles,
deafen me with sounds so shrill.

Right here once stood
tall trees on a small hill,
on cold, wintry, moonlit nights,
the clouds above stood still.

Not a leaf moved, nor the branches,
the dew on the grass looked so tranquil.
The calm reigned supreme right up to
the far away mountains, quiet as if on a vigil.
I am a lonely soul in this teeming crowd,
I was not lonely on that silent hill