Walking along a forsaken path,
A forest of trees on either side.
The purest tune of sweetest birdsong
Coming from where their creators hide.
The sight of brightest wildflower,
Lighting up the road I seek.
The most compelling of silences,
Hindering my will to speak.
I look to the heavens above me,
At sunshine streaming through the leaves.
The effect is like gold among emeralds,
Forever moving in light blue seas.
This is what I never shall awaken from,
For it is a dream, this haven of mine.
I lay and watch my gold turn to silver
And watch my emeralds lose their shine.
There is poetry in this forest of mine.
It is tangible, beautiful; it is there.
I see it in the darkest shadow,
The brightest light.
I breathe it in, for poetry is my oxygen.
My poetic air.
J. Cross
P