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Author Name: Freeborderline_mary 1 Comments
Date Added: September 05, 2017 12:09:45 Average Score: (Needs 2)
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Type: Rhyming
Category: Depression Add To Favorites | Text Only
 
The Marshes

I’ve come to bargain under ancient trees.
The path gives under every step, as soft
As promises life made to me in threes,
Before the barren branches stretched aloft.
I come to give a pebble’s worth in trade,
But all who plead have only stone and name;
What use has old, old ash for what I’ve made,
There where it has been stunted by the same?
Go back, go back,’ the wheeling night-birds voice;
Our nests will never cradle aught of yours.’
I have no past,’ we murmur, bleak, ‘–no choice.’
We know you’ve none,’ they moan across the moors.

Three flames extinguish from the vastdeep marsh–
The peat crawls inch by inch across my roots–
My songs can match the night-birds, taut and harsh,
A tongue that dries and cracks and involutes.
Don’t walk into the forest at my edge,
Don’t see the creeping moss which births the wood,
Rejecting endlessly my pebble pledge,
Decaying so it may be understood.
No wisps nor crakes nor coppers there within
But only little cairns, forgotten now:
A bargain never made where hope could win
Nor any desperate pleas exact a vow.

Beneath the water, fast in time, lie we,
Our candles lit, so others, damned, are free.

Author's Notes:
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'The Marshes' Copyright © Jessica Ruth Myr
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Comments:
Comment By: Freenoah count on September 6, 2017 07:23:27 PM Report
I'm not going to attempt to correlate the category to the poem.  Not being a poet myself, as you most certainly are, but an extremely succinct prose writer using very brief punctuation, and having been diagnosed with a bad case of APDD/attention poetic deficit disorder, don't know if my opinion means much.  But, I sure as hell, enjoyed reading The Marshes.  Could almost hear the hounds far off.






 


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