written looking out of car window at the beautiful mists over the countryside...

The Old Shepherd of the Mist

In quiet creeping stealth with ghost footsteps
He creeps
Shuffling up the stairway to the hills
Stumbling, spilling,
Rolling out the carpet to cushion his blistered feet,
Tired, so tired when he reaches the top,
He collapses.

All kept calm wriggles free,
Flooding into forests below,
The taste of freedom on its tongue teases
Sweet melodies tempt its ears
Calling like the harpies spell

Awoken it shivers, stroking its hair
Combing it out upon the fields
Vain of its cruel beauty,
Charmed by the song of the clouds
It dances in its mirth
Knitting with needles of moonbeam
Its scarf thickens
Growing longer with each stitch
Denser with every breath

Though age withers him and sleep beckons
One’s duty is not forgotten
He plucks the strands of pale silver
Tempting them to his loom
Skilled in his art
Weaving his silk like the spiders web
Smoldering the embers with the lullaby of light
Silently to slumber
Sleeping with his singing whisper.


xxx

 

Wowza.

Thats a really great poem.

 

Love the imagery, reminds me of Blake's 'Songs of Innocence'....