All Poetry

Forgotten.

Stains of sorrow from ages past
capture frost within the haze.
 A spirit scarred, of treasures stripped,
It yearns to find the way.

Haunted by a stillness cruel,
this wanderer amongst the trees.
Solemn, aching, silently–
she fades into the breeze.


54 replies »

  1. There are many out in our world who live such spectral lives…, born with nothing, passing through life with nothing, and leaving this world without a trace. Sad. A beautifully written poem though, Phoebe. 🙂

  2. Kinda Keatsian … can’t resist quoting the end of ‘La Belle Dame’, sorry …

    She took me to her Elfin grot,
    And there she wept and sighed full sore,
    And there I shut her wild wild eyes
    With kisses four.

    And there she lullèd me asleep,
    And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
    The latest dream I ever dreamt
    On the cold hill side.

    I saw pale kings and princes too,
    Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
    They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
    Thee hath in thrall!’

    I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
    With horrid warning gapèd wide,
    And I awoke and found me here,
    On the cold hill’s side.

    And this is why I sojourn here,
    Alone and palely loitering,
    Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
    And no birds sing.

  3. to slip away or to have not existed would be the easier path. But to continue on and blend in with the breeze among the trees is difficult yet such a lovely thought.

  4. Great job at setting the atmosphere. I don’t know, when reading the poem I got this spring morning feeling where the wind is blowing, sending chills throughout your body (sorry if that doesn’t make sense)… Anyway great poem!

  5. That is beautiful, Phoebe. So I was going to say atmospheric but I’m not sure if that makes sense. It’s late and my brain is a bit fried.
    xx Rowena

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