Placed Fifth in : Lost Poetry Contest Sponsored by Craig Cornnish
Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter ************************************************************** Lost The sun sinks low, the shadows grow, No moon is out up high, A chilling breeze begins to blow, With stars up in the sky; I wearily wade my way in vain Across serpentine lanes of a forest, Speckled with thick thorns and thickets, But each time tumble at the same spot; My heart is sore with seams of strains, I feel lost in the night, My feet are tinging with deep pains, No pathway greets my sight. Most of the trees seem to sneer at me, Some to snarl like wild woeful winds Treating the spot as their enclave, A guarded setting of their own; A voice soon whispers in my ears, A voice from inner self: “Move straight without a grain of fear, And steer ahead yourself.”
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