Slaves to a Wisp

I wrote this poem in 2009 and edited it in 2023. This particular poem I am not going to give much explanation for. Instead it is intended for the reader to derive their own meaning and purpose from this words.

The air was cold.

A dismal grey

 Lit the way:

Birds sang mellow song.

And the wind stood still,

In meadows dying

No life was near.

But as the ‘morrow shone bright

And caressed by celestial rays,

The air warmed to the touch,

Birds sang their glorious songs,

And green meadows danced in the wind,

As rays of gold lit the day:

Life was near.

With a clap like a cannon!

And a strike as a whip!

The wind roared in wild fury.

And meadows danced in horror,

As darkness surveyed the land wide.

Beauty was swept in a violent fit.

In a horrible mask, contained;

Imprisoned by the fury of the night,

Chained to trees wild with rage.

Lost until the tempest was dissuade,

Life coward at its feet

Left to repeat this dismal being,

Tricked by illusions of time,

Deceived by hope never received,

Wander the dreams of time past.

Prisoners to their master.

Slaves to a wisp.

 -EJB