Painted World – a narrative poem

Into your snow painted world

I stalk, ‘neath high veils of stormy grey

In flux, hiding shadows, taller trees

Reach to claim a stranger, warning.


What waits here few mayst know

The tales, bar what be told by

Those harbingers of old doom

Speaking ever and anon nay.


“Hold, cutter!” calls a familiar

Voice vaunted, known of old to me

Like the caress of nails on spine

Vertebrae, nerves reacting, gently.


I hail you, alert and smiling here

In your very own painted world, of

High tree, dangerous skies looming;

We are a pair here amidst such art.


Why did you come here? What sought

You in this world of your design?

So many questions have I, yet no

Reason for coming do I say so on.


Soon on this walk to your high tower,

Soon I expect you to ask, but no

Questions come forth, only quiet talk

Of old wars, older homes, family members.


I will try, try hard to give you all

That you are fairly due for your great

Victories and loving soul; and walk

Slower, slower, postponing the blood

On ice.



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