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Wilderness Lament
by Alastre ZidlerMy 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 © 2025 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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