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Darkness Of The West

Rating: 4.0

A place so alive in its own loneliness. Alive with
Big bleak rocks that stare awkwardly as suspended
Erratics alone on hills or as clusters in dead fields.
Or perhaps alive with the awe of countless sheep
Grazing, ignorant to the world. Blessed.

Land so poor it engulfs all life before it.
All that can be heard in the dead of night rugged
Is the deafening sound of blackness
And a million starving souls,

Disturbingly pushing up food
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Gregory Gunn 18 January 2006

Dear Sean, What I've perused of your poems so far this one moved me the most. Strong employment of imagery and metaphor. An engaging 8 from me.

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Jeremiah Shine 08 January 2006

hey! I'll trade you these cold indiana roads for your connemara field for a while! i lost my swan feather i found near a misty lake there... the middle of january in Ireland...and the tree on the island in the lake a bare skeleton silent in the pounding winds.

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Raynette Eitel 29 July 2005

Sean, this is a beautiful poem with so much soul. Thanks. Raynette

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