Not from castle,
A tower or a spell,
But from my lonely mountain,
I waited in my hell
Freezing cold around me,
Death sneaking on my tomb,
Hopeless without heart I sat,
Encouraging my doom
But then from my pittyful mountain,
The sun began to rise,
Alex came before me,
And opened up my eyes
A contest entry
- Twelve lines on or from this Mountain, by Lyndon.
1000 points, ended November 26, 2007, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Fine little poem!
Watch spelling: "pittyful" => "pitiful" or "pitifull".
Found by Alex?
There are puzzles to some lines. How does Death sneak upon your tomb unless you are just alive and not in it ... yet? Is this what you intended?
I did read this poem metaphorically but I do believe you need a short note in the Author Notes.
Lyndon of the Winklings.
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