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The White Mans Burden

Rating: 2.7
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
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Tom Billsborough 06 October 2016
A whole past lost to the Conquistadors, so tragically expressed by a truly great poet
1 0 Reply
Seamus O Brian 06 October 2016
A twig, a small remnant of a much greater thing. A remnant with its own stories, own burdens, own memories. What remnants do we leave in the trail of our living, and what will their story be to those who listen?
0 0 Reply
Barry Middleton 06 October 2016
I have felt that many times. An excellent work.
0 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 06 October 2016
The roots i had left behind. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
2 0 Reply

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