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.
•
Categories: All Poetry, Poetry by Phoebe
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Hi PuppyDoc As she passed into another realm of existence! So Nice. Thank you for liking “Flock!” Peace and Best Wishes. TheFoureyedPoet.
🙂 🙂
Hi PuppyDoc. knowing the past could not be changed! Thank you for liking “My Own Humility!” Peace and Best Wishes. TheFoureyedPoet.
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. 🙂
Yes, that is very sad indeed…
Dear Dr. Phoebe,
Great line, “wanderer among the trees.” I often have this dream of walking in the forest. Love that line in your poem.
Sincerely,
Richard
Thank you, Richard. 🙂
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.
Love it! 🙂