Misted Lands...Begone!

In the mists

The rain to come without a wish

The trees tall

The mountains still young, reach as high as they may

Green

Wet

Dismal in the grey

 

Tis a place

A Bend in the North

Once a place to haunt

Now a fleeting memory in the fuels vapors

Best to be gone

Before winters chill deadly grips

Locking fast the mountains pass

That Pass

Of which I have qualms with the snow

Fast and fleet, crossing quickly

Within a heart beat

 

The mind, ever swirling in the fog

Dreaming, remembering of where I wish to be

With desert sand and wind blown sage

Distant, far… far South of me

Reviews

[Shy Girl]

This is cool. Your traveling and leaving a place that hasn't yielded good things, and hoping to make it back home. (I could be reading it wrong though) I just picked up a longing feeling within your words. Not sure the what or why, because the picture in my head is there, just a longing or yearning sensation. (Sometimes me and, what I call, thinker pieces, I read wrong. Sorry) But beautiful all the same. And breathtaking photos to set the path for us. Just breathtaking. :)

[Walk away slow poet]

I found this beuatiful as well as sad. Wonderfully written.