Written by kyra shennan |
Published on:

The trees surrounding the lake are so loud today,

 or have I not noticed their haunting yet gentle wails until this steely morning? 

Even though they seem quite young, 

they creak and groan

 just like me with my old bones. 


It is as if they are trying to tell me something, 

unperceivable to the human mind, 

a language never learnt, or sadder still, 

forgotten, by human kind. 


I creep closer to them to listen,

 feeling invasive 

as I lean my hands against their bark, abrasive. 


“What are you saying?” 


How strange that the sound 

is akin to creaking doors, floors

and ships on the ocean, 

as if their spirit is in the wood, still in motion 

Copyright ©

Form of Poetry

Blank verse

Author: kyra shennan
Writer and wanderer wading in the waters of this weird and wonderful world.


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