The edge of the wood
Is where we dwell.
Beyond the reaches
Of a thicketed hell.
Is where we dwell.
Beyond the reaches
Of a thicketed hell.
The looming tall trees
Tower over us all
Like phantom figures
Foretelling our fall.
Tower over us all
Like phantom figures
Foretelling our fall.
Veiled in a thick mist,
Shrouded mystery,
The forest is full
Of haunted history.
Shrouded mystery,
The forest is full
Of haunted history.
Looming over us
As shadows from hell,
The forest becomes
Our abode to dwell.
As shadows from hell,
The forest becomes
Our abode to dwell.
© 2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: March 22nd, 2017 09:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
Offline)
Comments2
This is a beautiful write, I am within the trees.
Thank you! Much appreciated!
Despite their calmness and their beauty i often find forests can be a bit sinistet. This poem, for me, captures both these aspects. Well done
Thank you! Much appreciated!!!
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