The Messenger of Woe

“On a barrow hill stands alone
An old shadowed oak by silence marred,
from which the ropes of death
Hangs idle in the breeze.

The throne of the messenger of woe
Waiting for the trumpet’s call, and
From beyond the cold mist of the horizon
Echoes the cries of the deceased.

He restlessly waits, the silhouetted crow
For another tide of the withered fall,
Cursed on this place without time or breath,
Longing, in vain, for the day of his eternal release…”



One Response to “The Messenger of Woe”

  1. I really like the last verse. It makes me think about trees in another way. What a curse it sometimes must be to a tree, to stand in the exact same place everyday all the year around. To watch the same people pass by, the same things happening… without being able to move. And then when they start getting old, death seems to come way too slow. But perhaps the soul of the tree can find some way to travel some place else. I dunno, really. And on the other hand, trees are deeply appreciated by a lot of people. When I pass by a tree and think about how beautiful it is and how I love it, how positive energy mustn’t that pass on to the tree?

    Still, this poem kinda makes me sad for the trees. It also makes me wanna write a lot of songs referring to the sad life of some trees. In fact, think I’ll do that!

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