The Howling Wake

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

What Transpires Within The Resting Mind

I woke the howling wake to see where it would take me,
Down upon the river's edge where the moon rose on a night such as this,
I spoke to the voices of the past that sat there silent,
Waiting for my arrival as so they could exist,
Things of the night we don't speak of transpire,
As thought to say remember when?
Stirred to movement the wake plays with the mind,
Shadowy figures dance the night away by the river's edge,
Trickery or Tomfoolery my minds' exposed,
As the river's edge hangs on forever.
Adrift on the night air a feather falters,
Staggers and dies before the eyes that watch,
Upon the water it is swept way,
Never to play a part,
Of the mind exposed.
My shadowy figures fragment by dawn,
But for a brief moment they whisper'd the night,
And as I sit upon the river's edge,
A new day has arrived,
The howling wake has forgotten my name,
Adrift like the feather it dies in the night.

Submitted: December 23, 2017

© Copyright 2021 Michael Plante. All rights reserved.

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Bobi Leutschaft Poitras


Thu, September 5th, 2019 11:35am

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