Obscured Mystery
The River is wide and unbearably cold,
beyond the tide under a winter blanket,
alone in it's own secret is stories of old,
empty with aged beauty to beset,
sits quietly unaccupied with unread mystery,
shrouded among ferns and pines sheltered alone,
protected from the cold winter frenzy.
Through ages past does her mystery roam,
surrounding her walls,deep thicken grass grew,
while the winds sweeps through howl and moan,
branches broken and hangs about strewn,
this obscure house naked and helpless amid the wood,
how vulnerable she is for the raw elements,
as the coyote and weasel come in search for food.
Nature's melody sounds it's horn,
sharing with all that evokes her presence,
and the river murmuring towards the sea,
as she gives us the sight within her essence,
comforts us with her strength and we feel safe,
while laying on the bank pondering past tense,
serenity,peace and the joy this sweet morn we face.
And again the green dense pines,
with moss clinging like slugs thickening,
leads the obscured path into chaos that binds,
and the raven devours a mice no longer living.
Above the pillars of the pines where an eagle soar,
the north wind howls as it blows,
and falling trees leans forward in a painful roar,
hidden within her lore lay secrets of long agos,
and emptiness settles quietly beneath the winter's score.
The vision strained by this distant sight,
descending from it's aerial height,
attracting to view a familiar scene,
of more importance to thy self gleam,
this distant object for thee to ensue,
but turning inward thy reflective view,
to enter within it's open door will persue.
Copyright © Gordon Wilmot | Year Posted 2010
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