Lost

My life is riderless,
Of prophesy it is bare.
Green meadows turn to bog,
The gallop succumbs to the mire.

Step back - Quick!
I hear her thoughts,
Just and honourable,
Devouring themselves.

A wolf howls at the moon,
Who stole the wilderness?
The mocking gods look down,
And the wind bites, like kindness.

by Alexa Greenwood

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Comments (1)

love poems that when i'm through reading, i want to read them again. there are so many styles to writing, but i love poetry that weave their words to convey a thought and they compell you to see what meanings in them you can discover...thanks, renee