Depressions

This valley of two rivers stretches endlessly
In front of me. It's shallow, lifeless, even now,
As winter's giving way to spring. The fields
Are yellow still. The trees are leafless,
Swaying in a howling wind which issues
From the east. Hawks blow past unwillingly,
And, I, though stationary, share the frustration
Which they must feel. I cannot tell where
I am going, do not feel that it's my choice.
In time, the wind will die down, and the hawks
Will end up someplace in this shallow, endless
Valley. Likewise, I will come to rest
Within my lifelong trough.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-03-23 at 19:33

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
Death is the great mystifier of humanity. We watch it happen to animals, and we see our parents and grandparents, even friends and sick children go, but it is impossible to think of it approaching each and every one of us.
These are beautiful words you wrote in this poem, full of metaphors using nature. Love the way you wrote it.
Ashe
2018-03-23