A Narrative Snare


Black tales flow from darker ink.

Terrible, tall towers are traced by louring hands.

Stories revealing themselves like foxes beginning to slink, 

Pouncing whilst their victims give no enduring reprimand.

I, the hunter, begin. 'Tis the truth I seek.

But as though I were flailing in quick sand,

Groping for solid land,

Phrases trap me not unlike stone does a sphinx.

  • Author: Ethan (Offline Offline)
  • Published: June 4th, 2017 02:09
  • Category: Fantasy
  • Views: 41
  • User favorite of this poem: Augustus.


  • Fay Slimm.

    Ah - the snare we as poets have to see and escape from - a great piece of appealing imagery with its wise message to writers all. Good read Ethan.

    • Ethan

      Thank you, Fay.

    • kevin browne

      perfectly written Ethan x

      • Ethan

        Many thanks, my friend 🙂

      • Michael Edwards

        Great imagery - an accomplished piece of work.

        • Ethan

          This means a lot, thank you Michael.

        • MaddieJ

          What a nice piece. Good job! Love your depth and metaphors.

        • Saima

          This is confusing in a good way, nice use of language its amazing

          • Ethan

            Aw haha thank you so much. Much love <3

          • The Invisible

            Great stuff. You are very skillful, how old are you anyway?

            • Ethan

              17, you?

              • The Invisible

                Uh, the same actually.

              • 2 more comments

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