In the Waiting Dark- Michael Erickson


I walk along a dusted lane, listening to the sound of wind in the grass.

Hawk cries echo across this place as the sun descends beyond purple hills.

Cradled here in the midst of a volcanic bowl my feet pause before shadowed forms.

Rustling limbs sing within the evening breeze calling out to mortal ears.

Do I hear their words?

A thousand thoughts press in upon my distracted mind passing through empty palms.

Have I missed their purpose?

Tracing their lines with naked eyes I breathe out in silent revery.

What are they telling me?

Impatient with my youthful attention I turn away pointing feet toward home.

Perhaps I will try again tomorrow.

Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.

14 thoughts on “In the Waiting Dark- Michael Erickson

    • Thank you! I recently went and stayed at a family cabin in rural Idaho and had to put this experience to writing. I feel like I have to take a day or two to de-condition myself from the bustling of every day life so I can reconnect with mother nature. I’m glad you enjoyed this so much! My next few weeks of poems will probably be linked to my experiences there. Hopefully they will be just as enjoyable. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  1. i like this for the sense of peace it gave me, so much noise pollution in the city, when we step into the country the silence can unbalance us. a beautiful reflection of nature’s gentle whispers.


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