Tuesday, August 14, 2012
In the forest, silently
I walk upon the moss and heaves.
Mist weaves its way through darkened trees,
waiting spring, bereft of leaves.
I pray for life, despite the freeze,
to appear from the trees.
Just some green, a budding head,
to prove that all within’s not dead.
Flitting quickly, little wrens,
from branch to ground and back again.
A black crow soars in frozen air.
It doesn’t know or doesn’t care.
Fog condenses, water drops.
On last autumn’s leaves I hear them stop.
Mist mutes the sound, dulls the light;
so hushed that I can hear the sights.
I’m like this forest in winter freeze,
full of life that none can see.
I hide my soul ‘neath towering limbs,
to just peek out and hide again.
The tears I cry so silently,
forms the mist that swirls in me.
It dims the light I have inside
from others who may wish to pry.
I hide my pain stoically.
Inside of me a raging sea
of fears I’ve not allowed to seek
an exit for I would seem too weak.
I’ll remain a forest quietly.
No one should ever fully see,
nor comprehend my majesty.
Can’t see the forest for trees.