Tangled in a mossy choke
Bloodied bent and old
A weary soldier curses
For the pittance he was sold
From a frenzied route and fog
The thicket plucked her prize
And now this angry erasure
Shall lost and lonely die
And so from thorn and soil
He churned his temple tomb
The roots and loam a lover
To cradle him in doom
He prayed to every god and none
To his life's work undo
Turn the curse of bones he'd laid
To paths of boughs in lieu
The stretch of stars were silent
As they are like to be
Stones beneath him shiftless
In shrouded haunt of tree
But as the waves of consciousness
Ebbed from the tired jest'
A dream of wisps out from the fog
Did come to passing bless
And so from somewhere deep inside
Sang every god and none
In the grey he found the light
And finally was done
-
Author:
Quemis (
Offline) - Published: October 3rd, 2024 13:26
- Comment from author about the poem: I am almost finished making a close friend of mine his Christmas present, Which is a custom Tarot-Like deck called "The Deck of Fog" This poem will be featured in the back of the booklet it comes with. It touches on all the different types and modifiers in the deck, and helps to carry and compliment the vibe of the art and content.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
- Users favorite of this poem: jarcher54, Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments1
What a fortunate friend he or she is to receive this gift-in-progress! I was just thinking of you a few days ago... missed one of the dependably adept makers on this site. "The thicket plucked her prize" indeed... reminds me of some sort of siren or goddess that traps or drowns the unfortunate passer-by. Quite a vivid and haunting piece... is that a happy ending?
You are too kind J!
As always.
And yes it is a happy ending of sorts. An acceptance of what is, and through it, eternal sleep.
Thank you again, so much.
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