In the Green Glade of the Woods

By Zen Blade

Perhaps someday, the trees will stop talking to me and stop whispering in my head the secrets that man yearns to know but nature will not give up freely.

Perhaps the sky and wind will cease to caress my face, stop their soft and tender embrace that comforts the mind and lifts your heart.

Someday, perhaps, the warmth of a good fire will no longer warm up my flesh, bones and soul; will stop pouring life back into me when the dead of this world drain it all away.

Will my mind be an empty vessel? Resonating empty thoughts onto walls within walls within walls.

My body dry up like a fresh green leaf in a hot desert, my soul evaporates like a warm breath in an arctic wasteland.

Will my love be over power and defeated by the hatred and darkness of this world?

Not unless I will it not to be. The power flows with in me, the power to choose, the power of self-direction.

Perhaps the day will come when I will awaken and truly become alive; just like the fire, just like the wind and sky, just like the trees, Alive.

Only if I will it to happen.