My Life's Song

Song of myself

I am the wind rocking the treetops

whistling through the branches.

I am the lingering fog hugging the lake.

I am a cold fresh-water spring,

a spillway flowing on slippery rock.

I am the chiming: I am the ringing

of the brass bell in a steeple.

I am a muffled echo, I am the journey

from cliff to canyon.

I am the rustling of fallen leaves,

colors under shuffled feet.

I am the sudden thunder crashing

as it fractures acoustics,

and even the cricket's song is unheard.

I am the snowflake in free-fall

the first  to frozen ground.

I am raindrops' percussive capture

the cadence of water pinging

in the barrel's drum.

I am the sincerity of a silent prayer.

I am the minutes spent in day-dreaming.

I am the sleep lost to night demons.

I am the emptiness after love has left.

I am ticking clock of my life's death.

 

Reviews

[Bud]

I like this piece. As far as professionalism...who can dare tell another what's professional of heart and what's not? I don't believe this to be a work-for-hire? Encouragement...not discouragement!
Keep on writing what you feel! THAT'S more than professional...that becomes heartfelt personal. Something most anyone SHOULD know about. Great job!!!!!

[Shadow Writer]

I enjoyed the simple truth of this poem. Phantom.........

[Nyida Strong]

Unfortunately this sounds incredibly like a running monologue of a villain in a child's cartoon. Personally, I thought this lacked a professional edge and perhaps that is because you are just getting started. If not, then this is purely a juvenile piece. I didn't particularly care for it myself.

N. Strong