Hello again!
This poem is not really about Cold Mountain, North Carolina because I have never been there. However, I did a lot of research about the place and determined that it was a lot like the mountains that I am currently residing in, which would be the Blue Ridge mountains around Goshen, Virginia. So this poem was truly inspired by Goshen, though I did throw in a mention to Cold Mountain. (See if you catch it. :) )
I'm not sure how I feel about this poem, but I don't know how to make it better. So please enjoy it and leave a good critique.
Cold Mountain
8/2/2011
The trees here echo
With the cacophony
Of ten thousand cicadas
And locusts.
The world is lush and green,
And scorching hot in the summer,
Despite the ironic name.
And I drip from moments
Like dew dousing the leaves,
Settling in the heat of the day.
I pull the stars over me at night
To keep myself warm from darkness,
And fall asleep to the Whip-poor-wills.
And my sigh will rustle leaves,
As I breathe deep the musty decay
That accompanies rotting foliage.
And I will piece myself together
In the reflection of rain-stained pools,
As I contemplate my mountain,
And what it is I hide.
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