It's Dark. Look at it.

Is this the hill I wish to die on?
Is this the word I should repeat?
I’m still awake to your suggestion,
But some summits are hard to beat.
 
Can you see this land, be open to the words once spoken aloud?
It’s dark. Look at it.
 
Just how late it is, is hard to tell,
I’m advancing my retreat,
I’m looking for enchantment here,
In the freedom of the peace.
 
Walk the shrinking forest, sharing whispers where once there were shouts.  
It’s dark. Look at it.
 
I’m not the first to stumble here,
Or wake up to the wind,
The silence is an invocation,
Where this ending can begin.
 
Flickers on the hillside, signs of unrest we can’t doubt,
It’s dark. Look at it.

My taste in alienation, a spell,
Cast in prefab classrooms,
I sat at the back near an open door,
Disturbed as the teaching resumed.

Who can doubt these days are different? But still, you’re not to share.
It’s dark. 'But don’t you look at it!'
 
There’s a sweeping tide, but I can float,
Not afraid of waters deep,
This dusk makes depths seem biting cold,
But what I can’t see, I believe.
 
Share the certain flood, it takes its share but the waters are good.
It’s dark. Look at it.

The slope of the hill denied us,
The fences tore as if we dashed,
This is what we grew to see.
To fan the heat from cooling ash.
 
And twilight meets you where you stand, neither certain, or always good.
It’s dark. And we look at it.