Sun of autumn, thin and shy
And fruit drops off the trees,
Blue silence fills the peace
Of a tardy afternoon’s sky.
Death knells forged of metal,
And a white beast hits the mire.
Brown lasses uncouth choir
Dies in leaves’ drifting prattle.
Brow of God dreams of hues,
Senses madness’ gentle wings.
Round the hill wield in rings
Black decay and shaded views.
Rest and wine in sunset’s gleam,
Sad guitars drizzle into night,
And to the mellow lamp inside
You turn in as in a dream.
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Comments2The imagery in "senses madness’ gentle wings" really echoed through the lines for me. Beautiful.
Georg Trakl's poetry has a way of pulling you into a vivid, dreamlike world. The words dance and weave, painting an image that is slightly sinister but undeniably intriguing. It's haunting, it's beautiful, and it's something I find myself drawn back to.