'Tis dusk; the burnt and amber silhouette
Is dark, a dense, corporeal shade that stays
But briefly stark and bold, its form beset
By sudden vespers. Here, the shape, 'midst rays
Of failing day, looms grim: the branches, slim
And motionless, their edges crisp and terse,
Their countenance concealed, each leaf a dim
And lifeless shroud, a specter, e'er perverse
And drained, 'til night illuminates its corpse
Once more. 'Tis then, the tree arises, vile
And bent, an ever-whisp'ring wight that warps
E'er twisted in display, 'til day a while
Returns; and then, a resurrection, bright
And swift; the parting eschaton of night.
1 comment:
Wow. What a tribute to nightfall from the perspective of a lone tree's silhouette: first in twilight's waning shades and then eerily in mayhap moonlit scenes, a monster of a character which dawn's blushes returns to genteel behaviours. Thanks to excellent imagery it is a forbidding creature thus illuminated by the varied lighting. Very interesting and beautifully expressed. I was gazing at some of my forlorn and stript trees after dark and thinking to compose on their allure, when the words of this sonnet came sneaking back and soured that thought as I wondered whether the enticement was more of a forbidding type rather than as romantic as I desired.
Lovely in a creepy way. I enjoyed it. La, but must the shades of night only signify evil? I prefer to think not, but so many others seems to endorse the idea too happily.
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