Sunday, October 25, 2009

Constant

We enter deep mountains,
alone and dark in our thoughts,
with footsteps echoing constant,
and wind screeching fierce in our ears.
Up above the sky is tempest,
an empty hole full of space.

2 comments:

P.B. said...

I've been holding off commenting on this because to be honest I'm still not sure what to make of it. I think it's more than a picture but I've no ideas beyond that. That is to say I have nothing. I do have a touch of flu or something so maybe I'm thicker headed that usual...

One thing though, "empty hole full of space"? I realize it's a bit of word play but does it work? Probably would help if I knew what you were talking about of course. :) Damn flu...grrr

Taidgh Lynch said...

Sorry to hear that! Get better soon.

I know what you mean by the poem being cryptic not just your flu there. I think i will work on it some more rather than leaving the readers in the dark so to speak. I was trying to convey depression and/or mental illness without being too obvious :P I guess I should try to play around with imagery a bit more. Cheers. Thanks for the comment

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