A House on a Hill

There is a house on a hill;
outside, the world seems to move.
But does it, from my sill?
And if I stay long enough, will it still?
The house does what it will.

There is a memory I cannot shape -
the shadow of the house on a hill.
Do I look before I take?
If I fall down, will I break?
The eye of the house is agape.

There is a time and a place I don't know.
My language is old, no longer inside me;
where should I go?
Where the arcane things dare themselves show?
The house is dark because the sun is low.

There is a house - on whose hill I have stood.
The doorknob turns as I enter -
shadows lengthen, so I pull up my hood.
What once was impassible lies broken for good.
I am seized forward - before the Manifest Thought ever could.