Find me. Find me hidden between the moss and leaves. The bark that hold lives, but not ours. This place has a thousand stories to tell, we just don't speak the language of the whispering of the songs of the rustles.
We run through as children, sharing our joy and innocence. Something that will be lost to us but never here. The laughter is captured and is stagnant in the air just waiting for our return. Keeping our memories on hold.
And now I return to my seemingly still palace. To rest upon the grass and listen to the birds. As they begin to tell me many tales.
I'll try to understand, just to block you out. I'll listen intently, just to block you out. I'll walk in here forever, just to block you out.
But if you so choose, I am lost to these trees, their murmurs and cries. So find me if you can, for I'm hidden between the leaves.
it seems you are saying we all become lost at some point or other but do not run from it, the world is more than our ego and we can always find our way again.. there is a melancohly with this, a calmness within your spirit and words..really quite wonderful :)
it seems you are saying we all become lost at some point or other but do not run from it, the world is more than our ego and we can always find our way again.. there is a melancohly with this, a calmness within your spirit and words..really quite wonderful :)
This is a beautiful poem and it is very well constructed. The rhyming added to the piece without being overwhelming or forced, as is so often the case. You command the language well. I'm straddled between liking the ambiguity of who or what is being hidden from/blocked out and wanting a bit more clarity and definition. I'm not really sure which would give the piece more power. This is a great work. Nice job!
"The laughter is captured
and is stagnant in the air
just waiting for our return.
Keeping our memories on hold." - This is my favorite part, as it feels so beautifully unsettling. We often look so ways to keep memories (pictures, drawings, poetry, etc) and sometimes the memories are kept without us even trying. However this poem allows the reader to relate and the imagery is good! Well done :)
I'm a Young'un with an old head on my shoulders.
I love in Essex, England.
I loved writing when I was younger but hated learning about it, I'd rather do my own thing with my imagination.
No boundar.. more..