Supposed to Be

A whisper in the wind catches my ear, leans it toward the trees

Verdant leaves cloaking the origin of the ominous? sound.

I gasp, I shudder, I pause--clammering heart, jumping veins--

I am supposed to be alone.

 

On one side a jagged precipice, In front of me the brook

On all other sides, forest deep and shaded, green against blackness.

There is no way out but to go in, into the shadows, toward my fear.

I am supposed to be brave.

 

Every sound adds to the moment, a part of a  new cacophony:

Brook burbling, warblers warbling, leaves lisping, hammering heart.

I had thought there to be silence here, for this I'd walked so far.

I am supposed to be at home.

 

Slowly, cautiously, taking a note of each step closer, I advance--

Seeking the same path back from whence I have come.

Knees near buckling, senses on overload, I reach the treeline.

I am supposed to be relaxing.

 

Within moments I can hardly see my shoes strike mossy earth

Inside the blackness, not seeing the trees for the forest,

Listening so carefully to hear again that whisper the wind brought.

I am supposed to be doing laundry.

 

Again the whisper-- perhaps only in my mind-- I command it away,

Moving faster now, nearly jogging, not ready to face the voice.

Yet that voice that rides the wind, it comes, it comes again and again.

I am supposed to be calm.

 

It says, It says, it says... The fact is I do not understand its words

But I am terrified by them all the same, as the wind should have no voice.

My arms tuck against my sides, ready to defend, afraid to venture forth.

I am supposed to be free and easy.

 

A twig snaps and I ramble on, but then suddenly I am caught and I fall

I cry aloud, not simply fear, but frustration-- I will fight my abductor!

Hah! Nothing. My pantleg is caught on another limb that has fallen.

I am supposed to be rational.

 

I free myself and rise, laughing at myself, again free and easy and rational

and then I see...faces, gnarled and withered, running at me from all sides

Eyes gleaming crimson, rags upon bent frames, all the while whispering

"You are supposed to be here, forever..."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

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What a climax of self inflicted "everything"
I free myself and rise, laughing at myself, again free and easy and rational

and then I see...faces, gnarled and withered, running at me from all sides

Eyes gleaming crimson, rags upon bent frames, all the while whispering

"You are supposed to be here, forever..."
A beautiful write capturing the many aspects of the self within.

[Michael]

Wow, this is a whole new flow of work. I like it very much. It really has the feel of a free verse and not just prose or pushed in any way. It did see two typos:

clammering should be clamoring and pantleg should be pant-leg.

When writing a free verse now, do you find yourself staying away for the balance of a blank verse? Just asking because this one really has the feel of free verse.

Great job!

[Fran Marie]

Every sound adds to the moment, a part of a new cacophony:

Brook burbling, warblers warbling, leaves lisping, hammering heart.

Nice alliteration, in the above line~ This piece is wonderfully crafted and descriptive,with vivid images
taking the reader there to the terrifying evil shadows/and trickery of the mind~Fran Marie

[Anna]

I like this a lot...
it has strong imagery, ad I love the end...
a great piece!