"You can make anything by writing."
--C.S. Lewis


"Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted"
-- Percy Shelley



Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The Welcoming Wood

This is a new poem I wrote in the form of a Sestina. Enjoy.












THE day had set as I traveled down a road,
Intimate in its design, twas narrow,
directed toward the setting, golden Sun,
which, softly glowing, slowly came to rest
upon the darkening valleys of this world.
The road was long yet well supplied with fuel,

or, signs were scattered pointing towards the fuel,
twas the duty of the rider on the road
to refuel lest he get lost in the world.
Yet as I rode my eyes began to narrow,
losing sight of signs 'til my coach did rest,
still, as I lost my pace set with the sun.

There, still, I sat and lost sight of the Sun.
Alone, I did not think to seek out fuel,
but I looked elsewhere for a place to rest.
In utter darkness I wandered from the road
into a wood, welcoming, less narrow
and filled with mysteries of a whole new world.

My heart pounded as I entered this world.
By now my mind, had but slipped from the Sun,
and it's warm glow on the road, (too narrow).
I was not limited by need of fuel,
like I had to work for on the narrow road,
But vices here offered me so much rest.

So deeper I wandered to seek out rest.
Rest, that would fit me best within this world.
In darkness there, out of view of the road
in dark, I felt the cold absence of Sun,
and there... I ached. My body called for fuel.
I looked around...my options not so narrow

as they were upon the road, (so narrow).
But, as I took my fuel and found my rest
in the wood... I ached as I ate the fuel.
Still I craved more, it hurt. Trapped now in this world
that seemed more like a cage. And for the Sun
I longed, as I remembered its warmth on the road.

So there I sit entrapped within this world.
I have the key and I can sense the Sun,
But..could I, now, return to that narrow road?