Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

My Sage

I held a heavy sorrow
beneath a broken heart
a wound of flesh and marrow
a spirit torn apart

I found myself so burdened
I fell onto my knees
among the forest wooden
the arms of barren trees

No longer were there leaves
the coats of threaded laurels
that autumn gently weaves
among the grass and florals

I turned to feel warm faces
between the gnarls and the bark
the homes, the nests, the places
of friends once hidden in the dark

I touched the rough, the smooth
the gentle sympathy
the gift of love to soothe
from the ever-giving tree

I rose to wrap my arms around
my dearest, wise old sage
I stayed there in the silent sound
of the wisdom of his age

And as I walked away
I vowed to come again
next time to kneel and pray
for my sage, my forest friend
***

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Last few words: 
There is no companion like the friendship of a tree.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

or tree guardians do not reveal themselves to ordinary folk; but they sometimes speak to one through a sort of mind-meld, when in close contact with a tree. I know of some close by. They are of extreme age, and I happen to know that they are
hundreds of years old. One resides at the end of my yard on the edge of an embankment, she supplies a home to many of the neighborhood wildlife. [She is also quite messy, and sheds her raiment for winter's sleep, all over said yard]. I was really intrigued by your piece and love the homage you pay. Nice job! Nothing to criticize! ~ Geez.
.

Writing purely for oneself, is the ultimate in defensive posture.

I cannot think of another living being who holds such an essential connection with the entire world. It sometimes overwhelms me with both joy, and deep sadness. You have a wonderful acknowledgement of these dear friends. I wish everyone did. Yesterday, I had a somewhat sorrowful morning and by mid-day I knew exactly where I needed to go - to the trees. Thank you for reading and sharing your beautiful thoughts.
L

author comment

I wouldn't change a thing. Sometimes we find comfort in an unlikely source.

~RoseBlack~

I walk among the trees almost daily. Yesterday, I needed that extra TLC.
Thank you for reading!
L

author comment

I’d make this switch

I found myself so burdened
I fell onto my knees
among the forest wooden
the arms of barren trees

And this

No longer were there leaves
the coats of threaded laurels
that autumn gently weaves
among the grass and florals

Probably just preference. This is a stunning poem. I truly am moved having just returned from a hike.

Love it!,
Tim

I’d make this switch

I found myself so burdened
I fell onto my knees
among the forest wooden
the arms of barren trees

And this

No longer were there leaves
the coats of threaded laurels
that autumn gently weaves
among the grass and florals

Probably just preference. This is a stunning poem. I truly am moved having just returned from a hike.

Love it!,
Tim

Thank you so much for reading and for your wonderful suggestions, which I am going to gratefully use! The flow is much better. I appreciate your input!
L

author comment

I could wrap myself in this like a warm blanket. It’s got staying power. Really excellent work that really has emotive language and deep psychological nostalgia.

It invokes this

Hiraeth
n. (Welsh) A spiritual longing
for a home which maybe never
was. Nostalgia for ancient places
to which we cannot return. It is
the echo of the lost places of our
soul's past and our grief for them.
It is in the wind, and the rocks,
and the waves. It is nowhere and
it is everywhere.

home to my soul. Thanks for sharing.
L

author comment

this stanza is gorgeous...I like rhyming laurels and florals, and how autumn weaves this together:

No longer were there leaves
the coats of threaded laurels
that autumn gently weaves
among the grass and florals

Some poetry just drops in while you're writing and introduces itself.
L

author comment
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.