the sky bends under no ill will

the ground is 
soft under my feet. 

the path is merely pine needles,
worn down by deer and 
cleared of large branches. 

around me, the air smells of nothing. 
the trees, they whisper. 
the younger ones, even though they
know that they should not,
lean over to their friends,
they pass gossip to each other
under the cover of wind

the sky looks almost fake,
fragile in its beauty.
it's bluer than my eyes were
on the day of my birth,
and the clouds are huge 
billowing concoctions that
remind me of ship's sails.

here, i have no reason to fear. 
yes, the ocean rejects me, 
but this forest, 
it's taken a liking to me. 

here, the beauty is not deadly, 
the ground does not seek accident, 
and i am finally at peace. 

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed