the wind, it creeps through the hollows
the summer sun slowly sets
tall grass stands yonder
peacefully rustling evermore
all the while, a man awaits his absolution;
one that will never come...
salmon nebulas swim in sky,
yet the man sits, pondering
gulls cry unto him,
###"are thou not coming with us?"
and for the evening, they rest
but the man remains seated, stoic
a lonely goose warbles,
calling unto him,
"will thou not help me?"
the man utters not a word
he stares and is sessile
blue water crests and gently retreats
a great herron spreads its wings
it gently whispers to the wayfarer,
"come, but speaketh not."
yet the man remains, catatonic and cold
the sun slips into repose, twilight prevails
the imperial owl ceases its soar
in patriarchal condescension, it bellows:
"'thou shall cease!"
the man diminishes, delicately departing to dust
his sorrow scattered in the wind...
I wrote the first draft of this poem during the latter part of summer 2011. I have since revised it to its current form. This is my favorite poem that I have written. I hope that you can find meaning in it.
*All images are public domain