Chasing Footprints
As I enter the old-growth forest,
silent shadows hush whispering leaves.
And quiet descends like a curtain,
suppressing sound within its tight weaves.
A transformation slowly takes place,
from a rough trail to a dense thicket.
And the woods swallow reality,
replacing it with something wicket.
Hairs on the back of my neck stand straight,
following faint footsteps big-foot made.
And although at first, they weren't that clear,
they're now so fresh that I'm afraid.
Not far, a tree-thump reverberates
through the air, sounding like a loud bang.
And a low-pitched rumble can be heard
behind some branches that overhang.
Making a tactical withdrawal,
I quickly got the hell out of there.
For when it comes to big-foot sightings,
believe me, I've had more than my share.
(Quatrain)
4/25/2015
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment