Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 7
Wet falls on the striking lines of cobble
On the swerving paths of trouble
My socks are damp and my feet are cold
Light climbs on the dusky evening
Sharp as faerie wings
Hot like golden spring
My eyes are closed and
My hands are bound

There are rats at the dip of the grass before
The ***** to the water begins
Before the moulding wind sings
On the spine of a duck’s back
There are trees and trees and trees
That live in solace without wings
That rise with a curved branch
Towards the sky

Green air tinged durky damp
Leave spots on fading paths
Where my scared footsteps leave no visible mark
Is there a curse among the leaves?
A misgiving in the trees?
I open my door to a bumbling kettle
Go home breathing empty grey
To dream of the lake.
ah there's a lake near my house and it's so magical there I never stop thinking about it! it's not quite as dark as the lake in this poem, but you get the gist.

the title of the poem comes from the origins of the word 'lake' - it could mean 'pit of ****' in Old English, apparently :) dramatic, right? also I made up the word durky which was extremely fun.

horray for my first poem of 2019 :D
Georgia
Written by
Georgia  18/F
(18/F)   
  545
         Perry, Martial Teacher, ---, TC and Fawn
Please log in to view and add comments on poems