The Forest Of Silent Decay

Black soft peat formed of life's decay,
lying beneath whispering pines, which tell tales of another day.
Green and cold are the rivers that rush from harsh mountain terrain
fueling life with its given force from the soft spring rain.
 Lofty are the fowl, which cling precariously in suspensions snare,
drifting ever so aimlessly through the dawn's brooding, crimson air.
Projected are these birds of likening feather

Oh far beyond the silent forest beneath, and onto forever…
sailing on with divine purpose,

soaring without care, lighting not lest onto the highest peak.
Scintillating, vibrating, and buzzing go now the forest bees,
lighting to touch ever so gentle on branch and tree.
Serene and supine am I, yet filled with the life of this death,
for I lay sleeping, lightly dreaming, on the myriads of this final quest.

So, wake me not, and follow not me unto this path,

As it winds it way beneath the dark forest in silent decay,

Turning under this old mans hollow and empty blunder,

Ever rising and giving forth the substance

 of his solemn remorse at last.

J. Allen Wilson © 2005

www.Jallenwilson.com