Hurrying towards the odious glen,
The red grass bloodying the midnight fog,
Seeking solace from the moon who glows like the garb of he who is forever chasing,
forever lurking in the shadows of the wood.
Hiding in the wake of a monolith
that smells of brackish and feels like carrion,
You peer out at your pursuer,
Who lies dead in the bracken
at the edge of the trees.
Without him you are blissfully alone, hatefully alone,
Truly alone
Moon or no moon--
And even the grass,
who has seen enough bloodshed to be a sea,
ceases to whisper.

I wrote this about a year ago as well as my other poem, Tree Spirit.
What you think? I know line 3 is long.

My only suggestion is to change the word brackish. It's an adjective w/o a noun. It's also phonetically too similar to bracken, although their meanings are dissimilar. Otherwise, it's another first-rate poem.

Yay! Thanks for the tips!

Do you live near/in the woods? The forest imagery you create suggests a great deal of woods experiences, and/or a rich vocabulary and a love of literature and writing. I hope you keep sharing your work. I'm a big fan!

Really? Wow, thanks a lot. No, I've never even lived near the woods. But I have a very vivid imagination. In fact, this poem sprouted from a daydream I was having. *sighs* It will bring me to the looney bin one day, of that I am certain.

*oohs and ahhs in the background*

I LOVED that!!!!!!! Hmm...I have a lot to ask you so I'm just gonna PM you right now...


--->Sierra