What A Pretty Hill To Die On

What A Pretty Hill To Die On
by Valerie Parente

What a pretty hill that is
you chose to die on
climbed all that way
just to watch your town burn
took so much commitment
and sold your soul
using your last breaths
to cough up smoke.

Tell me, was the grass greener
on the other side?
Were you happier
being part of the lie?
Did you die as you lived,
succumbing to hate?
Did you use your influence
to fan the flames?

No that’s not a pretty hill
you chose as your cemetery
beneath the surface
you were once exemplary
but you used your good fortune
to cash into the institute
that never would have thought
to die for pretty little you.

– Valerie Parente (6-15-2025)

Statues

Statues by Valerie Parente

Built up from the ground
by the same hands they tear down,
statues with a soul
sold long ago,
can’t relate to the struggles
of their talentless doubles,
speaking so highly
above the stain of society,
as we scream “Who do you think you are?”
to these egos gone too far,
but we’re starting to catch on
how they’re the statues yet we’re the pawns,
oh how do you think they’d act
if we turned our backs?
No more eye contact with their bluffs
when they look down on us,
but it is them who will break
under the pressure of their hate.

– Valerie Parente (2-26-2023)