"precipitous" poems - Hello Poetry

.. Save from the hidden nests of birds, it was the only one there...isolated, like an isle...crested on the leveled top of a gorge...its way down or up was through a hand-carved series of steps on its slope...at its front was a curved gorge......one would think, it was trying to cross over the cottage was small, weather-beaten, desolate......its wooden walls seemed to have shrunk...its faded colors proclaimed its age...its having survived past storms.... from its window, the stream was seen, and heard, flowing on and on between these two precipitous valleys. light came from the sun...and moon, music was provided by the murmurs of the forceful wind, the continuous flow of water on the stream, the stirring of the leaves, the crackling of branches and twigs, the birds' singing in the spring...the pounding of heavy rains on its roof...and countless other hymns of nature......the dweller had heard them all... beneath a lonely moon glow, when nights were cold, there hovered low 'pon its aged roof, rounds of layered fog...like a series of steps....like a stairway to the sky... fog slyly crept, and wilfully shrouded the cottage.....it vanished from view, the two gorges and the stream, hushed, in the dark loneliness of that secluded spot......their vulnerabilities, trapped inside....misshapen silhouettes... in light and in dark, the whistles of nearing and departing boats....were wailing, haunting calls, piercing the peaceful calm of the valleys, or, maybe, the stilled complacence of the cottage, or...of the one living in that lonely cottage, ...lost, or gone astray, now weary and worn, willing to be found...longing to be reunited .......with the light and warmth of love... the cottage, the gorges, and the stream would be loneliest, without the cottage dweller... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan August 27th, 2018

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Aug 26, 2018

Aug 26, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC

sally-a-bayan

The Cottage, the Gorges and the Stream......

.. Save from the hidden nests of birds, it was the only one there...isolated, like an isle...crested on the leveled top of a gorge...its way down or up was through a hand-carved series of steps on its slope...at its front was a curved gorge......one would think, it was trying to cross over the cottage was small, weather-beaten, desolate......its wooden walls seemed to have shrunk...its faded colors proclaimed its age...its having survived past storms.... from its window, the stream was seen, and heard, flowing on and on between these two precipitous valleys. light came from the sun...and moon, music was provided by the murmurs of the forceful wind, the continuous flow of water on the stream, the stirring of the leaves, the crackling of branches and twigs, the birds' singing in the spring...the pounding of heavy rains on its roof...and countless other hymns of nature......the dweller had heard them all... beneath a lonely moon glow, when nights were cold, there hovered low 'pon its aged roof, rounds of layered fog...like a series of steps....like a stairway to the sky... fog slyly crept, and wilfully shrouded the cottage.....it vanished from view, the two gorges and the stream, hushed, in the dark loneliness of that secluded spot......their vulnerabilities, trapped inside....misshapen silhouettes... in light and in dark, the whistles of nearing and departing boats....were wailing, haunting calls, piercing the peaceful calm of the valleys, or, maybe, the stilled complacence of the cottage, or...of the one living in that lonely cottage, ...lost, or gone astray, now weary and worn, willing to be found...longing to be reunited .......with the light and warmth of love... the cottage, the gorges, and the stream would be loneliest, without the cottage dweller... Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan August 27th, 2018