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| This hill must have been familiar to Betsy Miller, Mauch Chunk's herbalist and potion maker. |
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| Betsy's grave at sunset, overlooking the hill she lived upon. |
Misplaced faith ripens ruin...
Nothing ripens a people more for ruin, nor fills the measure faster, than the sins of priests and prophets.
~ Lamentations 4:13-20
And one who is just of his own free will shall not lack for happiness; and he will never come to utter ruin.
~ Aeschylus
Who rules the stones
In our paleonated souls?
Take your assumed place
Bow down in the dust
And clear your weight
Discover the subtlest rings
Of change and decision
Of poets, priests and prophets
Lesser forms know more knowing less
This story is not about a cricket
With her nose and lips in the dust
Knowing nothing of Samuel
Who never questioned
The other wife of his father
Did she know her face was in the dust?
Not seeing the Ebenezer Stone
Not feeling the Sisyphus weight?
Bend down with one leg
Press your lips to the dust
Samuel said he could see
Sisyphus wished he could laugh
And pay the weight of his own regret
You’d sooner yearn to hear
The mumblings of Hannah
While green leaves even fall
Ripen me
For more ruin
Run me more in pure keen ruin
Run me smooth as eye in lid
To know the dust between my toes
To weather the storm
When green leaves even fall.
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