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The Waning of the Wild

I can feel the alone Pressing on me In this beautiful wild I wait for it to speak But beneath the rushing water And painted canyons. The once strung bow is now silent. Polished pebbles have lost their shine. The Mountain’s thrum has grown cold. A breath of wind trembles. The fireflys flicker Light weaving in and out Like sparklers on the Fourth of July. The jagged lines of sudden echos In the shadowed canyons walls are reminiscent of A slowing heartbeat. Mine? Or the Wild?

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Chris Green

Date: 4/25/2017 12:14:00 PM

This was very cool. I like how you did this. I could see through your words and the scene was vast and quiet as if it were staring back at me. I love the questions at the end too. I can feel a serenity but also a loss so perhaps the answer could be both. Really nicely done.

Iris Blade
Date: 4/25/2017 12:38:00 PM

Thank you so much! This is the exact picture I was trying to paint. I wanted to show that nature is connected to us, and if nature fades, so do we.

Darren White

Date: 4/22/2017 3:02:00 AM

This is a beautiful poem that deserves comments. I understand your wild, and everything in it that lives, and loses luster, and what that means.... Well written, Iris.

Iris Blade
Date: 4/23/2017 1:40:00 PM

Thank you so much! Unfortunately, I am not very popular on Poetry Soup yet, but I hope that will change! I'm glad you connected to this poem. In my minds eye, I wrote this poem standing on the edge of a cliff, becoming everything I saw.