Far above us, there sits a house on a hill.
It sits about the valley—watching, guarding, waiting—
Removed from us who live in the valley below.
Its silhouette marks the top of the hill,
Among the trees and the clouds that abide there.
The house rests at the top of our world,
Presiding over us all.
We don’t know what lives in the house.
No one has ever made it to the top of the hill,
Always getting turned about and emerging at the bottom.
But nothing comes down the hill,
And we are safe, here in the valley.
Safe and contained.
But I am afraid.
Afraid because we know that something is there.
Something watches over us,
Something waits at the top of our world.
And it has never hurt us, we have never seen it,
But it keeps us trapped here, in the valley,
Never lets us see what exists pasts the top of our world.
No one else sees the house the way I do.
They believe we are safe, protected.
The house and the something within it protect us.
From what? I ask, and get no reply.
I need to know that which we do not
So I will climb the hill, which leads to the top of our world.
And I will not be turned about, and I will not return,
Until I’ve met the something
That lives in the house on top of the hill.