The sacred mountains, with chins to the sky.
The mists that swirl, like temple incense.
The darkened forest, enter if you dare.
Its trees reaching out, with bony fingers.
Lady of the lake, with poisonous kiss.
No one has escaped, her hypnotic eyes.
The local village, so quaint and calm.
To tell the stories, that could have happened!
IMPOSING
Feeling lost and lonely, feeling sad and blue,
Thumbing through memories, wondering what to do.
Knowing I don't belong here, pondering where to go,
Feeling I'm imposing, bouncing to and fro.
Did I make the right decision, jumping without a plan?
Packing my belongings and running from that man.
I'm here inside my body, here inside my mind,
Here inside my bedroom closing up the blind.
poems cannot be rushed
imposing ideas fails
trusting the process
Beyond imposing gates there lies the place
Where charming children of the leisure class
Live out their carefree days at tranquil pace
And play patrician games on greener grass.
Across the street stands shyly a small boy
In beggarly attire all wet by rain:
He watches bound by grief and craves the joy
Which he is never destined to attain.
The view before him puzzles and defies
His dream of justice on this cheerless day.
He shakes his head, draws closer still and sighs,
But then he bites his lip, turns back and walks away.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Fragrance in garden.
Memories of fresh plowed earth.
Ghost of ancient planters plant.
Seeds that bloom in spring.
Burst forth in magnificence.
No eyes to behold grandeur.
Gone from this garden.
Where once fellowship had been.
Made to leave because of sin.
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