A ghost steps through the treetops as the wind blows,
Rustling sounds that only a hunter could sense,
Sounds so brief and fleeting, but the huntsman knows,
That his prey is standing near, fearful and tense.
Bristling noises through the forest, waking not a man,
The hunter waits in shadows for the time to strike,
A fluttering against the leaves and the spirit ran!
Only to find his seeker: so different, yet alike.
The phantom flies into the air, and hides away in trees,
But alas, he’s been seen, he’s running out of time,
His steps so soft and fleeting, like a summer’s breeze,
He thinks that he is safe from harm, until he hears a chime.
The hunter, the sun, shoots an arrow through his heart,
And the specter of night is dead, so that the day may start.
- Title: Psithurism
- Artist: eduardo galpaleano
- Description: A simple sonnet; a ghost being hunted by an archer. Crazy randomly chosen metaphor about day and night that just sort of came out of nowhere. Don't ask me much about my inspiration... 'cause I have none. Oh, and psithurism (the title), that is actually a word. I think it means "rustling sound made by the leaves when the wind blows through it" or something - it just sounded cool. I've never been good with titles.
- Date: 07/21/2008
- Tags: ghost hunter archer dayandnight wind