The Rambling Wood

It has been a month since my last post.  Work has been crazy – but I look forward to starting my blog into high gear soon.  Here is a poem I wrote – about letting go of the past.

Once upon my youth was a narrow path
Broad and contorted
Snaking like a shadow in the sun
The fish have all died in
The abandoned creek
The cracked chalice of fire
The poisoned oak is a fortress
Death stalks its life
As the angry roots scorched its branches
Dry as bones in a desert, yet the tree will not be cut down

The tree will not be cut down, I cannot cut it down
Its knotted snarls deep and dark

It hides in the soul’s shadows, avoiding the light

It reigns cruel in the night and sets a vengeful sight
Whispering as death steals present from the past
The long gone toil of distant hours
Many moons have passed as the curtain of night is eclipsed by the radiant sun
Still in the forest the heart weeps as if the past is always reborn
So let it die or it will steal the fire of the soul

The ruptured wounds are overgrown
It is a twisted and contorted road I hike

If only I were a sparrow I could take flight,

Still this tree towers as a ghost, the false spirit of light, it tricks the nerves as I stumble and fight

With myself I am broken, I do not understand.  The thorns have bruised me and I am broken from my father’s land.

I cry out – why am I forsaken – the life inside of my the flesh is dying, my tears dry do not give life to the tree

IT is alive and dead, alive and dead indeed
For so many years my spirit leaned on the roots of bitter soil
It is a dis-ease that leaves a heart with an arrow of pierced thorns
It took the blood of the crown as the dove perched on the branch
To tear me apart from such this bitter art of a lonesome crossing of the tracks
It the fractured state of a broken soul, the wings of the dove cry tears
An elixir of hope, I will not break free from the tree if I remain chained to its roots,

so I allow my eyes to witness the rebirth of the sunrise as I follow the spirit of life to the present morning of a dawn on fire with the crashing of the stars into the infinite sky

Grace abounds as I go home for the first time into the Father of Life

I cannot go back to the Ramblewood of a distant dead life

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