Lonely Roads

It's kind of out of the way around here, no street lights, little trafic, people tend to get home late....

 

Looking glass bloodied with strained imaginings

moving smoothly through rains frozen and fine,

mists are restless blankets, light as unspun silk

shaken by autumn twilights dying  breeze, ruffling thick,

till nights quiet comes silent, settling them ground ward.

Small creatures drink dew netted by thirsting tussock

they duck beneath rainless cloud hidden from owls.

Distant figures neither small nor tall walk legless,

skirted from waist, drifting aimless between shadows ,

dull noises echo from damp leaves no longer crisp,

scampering hidden foot falls allay tis not ghosts,

walking their dogs. =)

Reviews

[Nan]

You seem to be channeling Salvador Dali! Or at least I can see how this could be
a Dali painting. It does send loneliness across the plain doesn't it?

I just want to stand here and enjoy the vast mystery you've created.

[Brette Medb]

I loved the descriptions! They were so vivid and full of life. The end was great and the imagery was wonderful! Truly great write,

Brette

[Forest Green]

Truly imaginative poem...! Very much brings the writer to a new and mysterious place.

You've done your hometown proud...! I enjoyed your poem very much.

Have a great weekend.

Daniel

[vanishing]

It's kind of out of the way around here, no street lights, little trafic, people tend to get home late...."

To realize how dim the lights can get
before turning off
your words paint the shadow
the ghost casting its darkness upon the mind
as when looking into a night sky-when in an open field
everything seems a bit more accentuated
the environment itself starts
to glow and begins to cast its own shadow
how dusty, lonely roads sparkle
Truly Lovely Di.

[Fades]

Hey, reading your work always makes me smile, and since i logged into WC for just a bit... i loved this one, well defined words for your graphic painting on prose.. Nice.

[Sam Freeland]

memories evoked about walks in the woods
loving the small life scampering about
happiness knows nature for those who have learned
you again have given us a bit of your love

[Poeticpiers]

Well written descriptive prose Reminds me of my own smal village after dark.

[S.E. Conway]

^.^

-s.e.