|The Man in the Wild
Author: Juura99 PM
A short poem about a man lost in the wild.Rated: Fiction K - English - Poetry - Words: 466 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 08-17-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2944142
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A random bit of poetry.
The Man in the Wild.
Tossed forward was he,
eyes sharpened by caution
and shined by the unheeded fear flooding through veins,
thick as tendrils of wisdom and valour,
thin as the wisps of a babe's new hairs.
Skin tickled and trickled
with the nerve endings adapting
to the strange and wonderous surroundings,
coating them like the velvet blanket
of winter across the land.
Wandering a lost road
with the map of wit and logic,
nothing but a shade of bravery
to cover the coward
slinking beneath the surface,
hidden by the mask of strength,
fed by the whispered words from the darkness.
Neither cottage nor castle
to his beck and call did appear,
his weary feet never stopping
in the endless trail they carved
through stone and sand,
gravel and mud.
The cries of a wolf
to the silver moon did reach
his high alert ears,
twitching like the sensitive nose
of a newborn mouse,
waiting for its mother to appear
and tuck it away safely into her fur.
Darkened skies accompanied him
on a journey through shrub and tree,
with the endless choir
of cicadas by his side
and the alluring hoot
of owls of old
as they scour the night floor
for their pray.
The shine of the silver dime
resting anciently in the heavens
revealing the bubble
of a newborn stream of life,
to which he drank his fill
and wiped his dirt ridden face.
Down rolling hills,
steeper than a descent into hell
his heart did dance with the wind
as it passed him by
in but a breathless whisper.
Stoned walls of former glory,
a refuge for the lost and found
in this haven for creatures
of our Creators great imagination.
His muscles protested
like the cry of a babe,
pulled into the cold white world
before their contented time
as he lay on a surface,
flat and cold as a gravestone
upon which was written
his last breath.
Eyes softening with the unending allure
that sleep beckoned to him
like a siren to sailors,
lost upon the raging seas.
Dreams of safety,
of familiarity and warmth,
encompassing him from all sides
as he lay in a temporary death
to the world outside of his mind.
Golden beams of God,
sliding across his visage
like a warm hand of caress
pulling him from death
to life once more.
Wits and thoughts were gathered,
collected into a bottle
which he stored dutifully in his mind
for later use in the journey
through the gardens of God.
With steady footsteps that faltered
and a hard gaze of soft origins,
he continued his path,
hidden by doubt and clouded by fear
regardless of either
he progressed through the greenery,
to his journeys end.
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