Out past where the oldest trails do taper into gorse;
Farther than the hideouts where men digest remorse;
Miles beyond anything worth salt or half a prayer,
Hills and pines unending, conceal a ghostly flare.
It flashes like a lighthouse, shadows between the trees.
It's song that of a siren, far from darkest seas.
Dancing round the hilltops there, or down above the bog,
Teases glowing beacon, beckoning through fog.
Do not follow where she leads, if maiden it do be;
'Tis just a will-o-the-wisp that roams forever free.
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Author:
Quemis (
Offline) - Published: April 14th, 2022 20:59
- Comment from author about the poem: Beacon. Goes with the artwork. Make sure to follow me on tiktok if you want to see the artwork produced. @quemisthrowspotions
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
such an impactful image
and an intriguing read
thanks for sharing, dear poet
Thans Mek! Got hundreds of these composites. : )
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