The sound uttered was faint, but clear,
The far-off mountain seemed oh so near.
As a sleeping animal many miles away,
A journey that would take all but a day.
A full moon hung down a thief that night,
Casting very little of its borrowed light.
How have I come to find myself here,
Trekking alone and clutching my fear?
My, how loneliness can be a bitter thing,
A subtle awareness that flies on a wing.
There almost as a friend if not so very sad,
No friend should make me feel this bad.
Silence nearly seems like wakeful sound,
Leaves and snow falling down all around.
A lone wolf howl now suddenly rang out,
The silence broke with this fearful shout.
Wild black shapes visible against the moon,
As I fell back against a snow hill in a swoon.
The world a hunter, its embrace but mortal,
We are like savages, seeking to be immortal.
Can't understand why anyone wants to be immortal unless of course they're living a rich and happy life. I don't want to die but I believe in an afterlife and so have little to fear. Rebecca
Recent archaeology keeps turning up wealthy and powerful man who tried for immortality after their death by creating an elaborate funeral ritual around their death and their transition to the afterlife.
It also reminds me of my grandfather's story about the time when he was a teenager coming home on the sleigh being pulled by horses in the Wisconsin snow and having a pack of wolves following them trying to attack his horses.
We may wish to be immortal, but we know that will not come to pass, and so we create in hopes that what we create will still give us life after our death. A very fine write John.
this a children book illustration depicts the stone age savages who painted their caves thinking of the immortality in the fine art. . . and they succeeded. Cheers, alex
If you tend to believe romantic, passionate, masculine poetry is a thing of past eras, read "She Intrigues Me," and be swept away in the beautiful craft of a contemporary poet of love.
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It also reminds me of my grandfather's story about the time when he was a teenager coming home on the sleigh being pulled by horses in the Wisconsin snow and having a pack of wolves following them trying to attack his horses.
Ron
"Trekking alone and clutching my fear?"
Yes, yes of course. This is one of the best poems, in my way of thinking, that you have ever written