ominouspoet

Do you think people 100 years ago, in rural Vermont, looked up at the sky, at the milky way, the moon and all the stars? Do you think they marveled at them, and taught their children the constellations?

The wind sings-
she gathers stories, whispering tales of people lost long ago.

she tells them to me
but I forget as soon as she is gone.

The creature peered out from behind a boulder. Its single red eye glinted in the moonlight. There was nothing but darkness where the other eye should’ve been.

Je suis un corbeau avec un plumage noir. J’aime les bijoux. J’aime aller au parc. Je vois une femme avec un collier. Je veux le collier.

Alors, je fondre sur elle et prendre le collier. Je suis un content corbeau!

Now, I know it may seem common, even shallow —  
to answer with such a simple thing, 

but 'tis what draws my heart — 
the Fox, silver fur, dancing in moonlight. 

as I sit here – 
deep in the forest, bathed in shadow, 

watching the leaves fall, 
tell me, why does the earth end in such a pretty display? 

I holler to the trees, 
they answer with a rustle