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Wilderness Lament

by Alastre Zidler

My private forest
Winter light, twisted roots
The thorns grow thicker underfoot
The path of the righteous
Has become a forked tongue

Prodding trees pointing
Pompous in their wisdom,
Head and hands full of leaves
Crying sappy tears
Of frustration
(When I think I am alone,
Here too is someone
I can fail)

North winds swirling
Sweetly bitter what they bring
Whispers of a wedding
Before the seasons change-
But ah, my bride has yet to choose a face!

Let me stand here in this glen
If only for a moment
For this is where the path ends
And the wilderness begins

06/24/2003

Posted on 06/24/2003
Copyright © 2019 Alastre Zidler

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Leonard M Hawkes on 07/29/03 at 04:34 AM

Good work! I like that last couple of lines best --you know, "the poem ends in wisdom."

Posted by Stephanie Kent on 08/04/03 at 11:31 PM

This is beautifully bittersweet somehow...I love the tree imagery. Outstanding.

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