Through wind-bared trees, I stare across the valley
Tangled branches frame the distant view
Here, the darkness gathers strength to hold me
There, the lights shine bright, of home, and you.
I stay here, on the wrong side of the valley,
Where sharp-thorned scraping bushes hold me in.
No reaching out across the hill to softness
Of fingertip on lip, of skin on skin.
The path beside that leads to other stories
Is littered now, with leaves that didn't tell,
Relinquishing the grip that held and nourished,
Knowing they were dying as they fell.
A misty silence seeps along the valley
The muffled, dampened hillside makes no sound
I stand and gaze out from the growing greyness
Crying out, but rooted to the ground.
*the title for this poem and the beautiful photo above it of the Darenth Valley, were both taken from The Domesticated Bohemian. If you haven't already done so, please go and read the poem that inspired mine.
