The Shepard's Of Arcadia 2 Poem by Felix Emeka George

Here where, I am sitting
In this solitary place
I have come like a girl arose
That had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness
Of the world in tears
To This dark mutinous night
Leaving on the velvet night sleep
On my mat, of rest strained
To catch the threshold of a door
Lightened by the loneliness velvet night
Like the hovering blackbird bat clarions
In this lone far-flung place Lacking
Within over and whispered hush

Without a silent soul a softly following
With weathered, trembling hands
I reached the door as I opened quickly
I have set my eyes upon ridges
In our home steady,
Which my parents' lives rest
In the deep holes of ridges
Beyond the earth crust
Sleeping as dead as the stone
With earth pressed so heavily,
In a cool inner plain air, humming
On the lifeless men, of softly fresh
Upon the moist, brown-red earth
And
The top ridges clothed of scattered palm fronds
In this solemn of place calmness
As silent and fecund
Than ancient of ageless graves
In a dark end

I am the Shepard's of arcadia.
This is a place
A distance and
When I approach further closely,
The riot thoughts,
Softly forgotten melody
Falling in my mind into
How well flats lay they are,
In the dark mutinous-earth

From this forgotten world
Of dead dream gloom
In this central plain
On my sat down, sitting
Trembling Like a tree leaves
At the terrible wind.
The Riots inside my mind,
Like a bough falling softly
Upon the earth on my knee,
Keenly by these two ridges,
That exist in inspire.