I hear them as they glide
Will-o’-the-wisps and their
Etherial sound beckon me forth.
Pulsing blue light
Guides me through the darkness
of the wood around me.
They flit—for a moment—into view
before dashing off around a bend,
A tree. A rock.
I chase the pull they have on me
To a clearing of stones
The wind is strongest here.
Swirling my frock around.
In my head and all around
the whispers grow louder.
They speak to me in their native tongue
of wishes and prayer.
Wisps of magic and hope.
We dart off into the moonlight woods
In search of dreams yet to be dreamt.
-
Author:
M.E.M. (
Offline) - Published: March 14th, 2023 13:05
- Comment from author about the poem: Comments are welcome. I never knew the direction this one was going to take till the words appeared. Created: 2/3/23 | Revised: 3/1/23 | Completed: 3/7/23
- Category: Fable
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments1
Hollo .. mysterious. .
I think you have been nominated to join them
Because I sense unique tint in this poem ..Even before you know their native tongue ..☺
Thank you so much!
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