WL Schuett

Lost River Glen

Bound to the trees

left to the ages.

Swallowed in the mists

of Avalon.

A child becomes

a woman grown .

 

Hoping for a revelation 

that quells my tears

of grief .

 

My pride endures

quite heavenly.

My bouyant breath

explodes

into a riot of pines,

mountains and moonlight mists .

 

From a deeply shadowed

valley holding the mountains at bay .

I drink remorse and 

crumble to sadness.

 

Coyotes prowl my

midnight shivers.

centuries of tenacious trees

tripping down a 

tangled path of regrets .

 

The last vestige of 

seconds ticking.

Countless , infinity lost

in the River Glen of the 

morning sun .

 

As the Ferryman crosses

the River calling .

These hours

these hours

possessed .