Quoth Theraven Poet Rhyme

November Lost

There seems little hope when the tires won't hold air.
Did God forsake us somewhere, 
along the long and dusty path?
you and I, got wires crossed in despair...
left to suffer this day alone,
in His wrath. 

Oh lord..
I carry my hammer low, lower still.. 
my nails all crooked,
torn away from oaken boards.

The back forty waylaid,
in early dawn's frost.
Still remembering strength..
that faltered, when all hope
seemed lost.

Don't tread on me heard once in the wind's voice.
The plowshare's greying field,    
left forgotten and untilled,
so little left of youth's free choice.

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Anil Deo December 29, 2021 at 11:17 AM Nostalgia, choices, prayer? Richard, even when we bemoan the losses we see, Y/our soul is repenting & Abba Father "renews our strength like the eagles" ( Isaiah, ch.40 if memory serves) Happy New Year. ANIL

Christopher Flaherty December 13, 2021 at 5:23 PM I am a Scorpio Raven born in November. Free from choosing to stay young. Winter dawn's

Andrea Dietrich November 15, 2021 at 1:43 PM wow, so metaphorical and atmospheric. Novembers are always so gloomy to me and this sure sets the mood. Excellent writing, poet

Michelle Faulkner November 12, 2021 at 8:20 PM The forlorn atmosphere here is so sad and striking, I have those feelings too sometimes~

Linda Alice Fowler November 12, 2021 at 10:44 AM The last line sums it up Richard. Very nicely penned. Linda

Vijay Pandit November 10, 2021 at 5:27 AM Your opening line sets the tone for this poem Richard. No hope when tires won't hold air. This metaphoric journey traverses in despair of time and life. Well done my friend--The back forty waylaid---plowshare's greying field...