"At last," I thought. "The time is right."
Again I felt that certainty.
The sun was falling and the night
Was threatening to cover me.
I raced against the setting sun.
A mile or more. My forehead sweat.
Though strangely weak, I still could run.
My face was red, my back was wet.
There was no doe this time to chase
When finally I reached the falls
That mark the gateway to that place.
I listened for the forest calls...
No silent voices calling me.
But still the thirst and still a hope.
I swelled with curiousity
And climbed the steep and muddy slope.
At last I reached that sacred ground,
But nothing whispered on the air.
Mere ruins remained of what I'd found...
This time the magic wasn't there...
Comments
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A marvelous tale--I wish I'd written it! This reminds me of the beginning of Smith's "City of the Singing Flame". This is a great poem, and I absolutely loved it!
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Love the imagery, the narritive voice reminds me a bit of Poe. Beautiful job with this one.
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Beautiful! What a haunting emptiness and sense of loss you describe!
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Beautiful vivid imagery within this well written piece and penned with flawless flow to the rhyming verse--
Well Done!
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