Fickle

Fickle

A Poem by Anna von Österreich

There is not much left of me,
In terms of sanity;
it has leaked into oak bark and
Leapt down cathedral halls
To rest in woodland moss and
deep in old wine cellars.
I am pulled by every rolling tide;
satisfied by flicking lights.
It's playing in wanderlust
And tangled in berry bushes.
So it is safe for me to say,
not much of it remains within;
Whereas the soul is tormented
By never making any sense.


© 2020 Anna von Österreich


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Wanderlust. I loved and needed once. Now I am a anchor.
"It's playing in wanderlust
And tangled in berry bushes.
So it is safe for me to say,
not much of it remains within"
The above lines. They said a mouthful. When we can know the wanderlust. We are seeking or running away? Thank you dear Anna for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

Posted 6 Months Ago


Very well done. So sad if a scene described, and yet so well done! You are talented.

Posted 10 Months Ago



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Added on January 5, 2020
Last Updated on January 5, 2020
Tags: dark, windy, black, violet, forest


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