The quiet of the night mocks my wretched song,
The lone path is long winding and shadowy dark
Listen to the howling wolf; he too hide in brush alone
No fanged mate to share his capture bleeding meal
Taring the flesh with teeth snarling at no opponent
I walk trebling in sorrow tread barren depths
The shaded tree tops hoot with flapping wings
I flinch, withering immovable scared stark stiff
Yet I know I must climb out of this ravine gully
But there is little light here to saunter the route
I curl back the paisley coverlet only to coldness
Heart furls snaked in nostalgic repressed images
I pull the same covering, curling a fetal position
Hoping to bite the dream of a different existence
Such a nice poem, Cathy. Read my poem, Love and L u s t. Thanks.
Beautifully composed and interesting reading. Please kindly check my poems HOPE and THE BEAUTY OF DEATH and leave your comments and ratings
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Heart furls snaked in nostalgic repressed images' - what a beautiful metaphor!