Saturday, March 19, 2011

god

I was in the wrong forest

with the perfect clouds to

fill my lungs

and part in walking

tasting the moss and guava wood

long needles reaching off the stretched arms

of dark figures

grey skinned woodsmen

speak only in whispers

and quiet creaking squeals

but surrounding me I cannot

ignore their

presence

ancient

spear wielding spirits threatening

righteous death

or

fearless living on

through the forest

in the heavens above your

memory

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