He walked as I always walk,
grown gaunt, gawky; cold as icy skies,
where light will pry among grey storm clouds,
while he fears his parting and the shroud.
Crowd the candle, clutch at straw,
while gnawing winds rush through the eaves.
Autumn falls about our heads, with not one sigh,
from splintered trees.
So long grown, longer turned to stone,
they groan to no one,
among a soaking splatter of leaves.
26 Aug 09
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I have walked there. I can't think of anything to point out that is wrong and since it's all right, nothing to tell you but that it's solid, cold, Autumn is well captured, in time as well as the life of this man.
nice to hear from you and thanks for the crit
i'm not sure how you did it. but you've blended a somber tone with something that's somehow free.
i must admit that i do frequently feel sombrely free
Larry free as a bird with a broken wing Lark
a very well worked piece of poetry.
for me to achieve even mediocrity calls for plenty of hard work
Larry swimming in the gutter Lark
Larry, this is a beautiful poem with a lovely flow to it.
Line 3 "light will pry" very effective personification
line 6 I can hear the wind in the eaves
Line 8 "splintered trees" I love
line 11 I can see/feel those leaves under foot
I like this very much. Thank you.
I sense the melancholia of Autumn drifting through the early September air and try to remember where i put my thermal underwear.
Larry glowing colors and tiny wings Lark