Poetry

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Rolling hills!
I ask in prayer for
rolling hill emotions.
Not the great plains
nor the alps,
but scenic rolling hills.

Cuz the path of my life looks like
a roller coaster runway.
Sometimes spiral;
Sometimes on a rickety and wooden rail;
narrow and wobbly;
creaky and rumbly;
I nearly fall up
out of my seat.
I hold on tight
though I’m buckled
in with my belt.

As a kid,
I rode those coasters
many times.
Back into line
another time;
Run back in line
one more time.

Now as an old kid,
I realize I’m riding on
the Spirit Coaster;
When the scream - I find
is from the thrill of the ride.

Now I slowly
walk back in line
as the sun sinks.
And I finally get me one of those
glow-in-the-dark bracelets
and ride the light rail
through eternity.


H. Stone © 2005

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