|And the Moral of the Story Is
Author: Feathered Fiends PM
inspired by Henry David ThoreauRated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 297 - Favs: 1 - Published: 04-03-08 - Status: Complete - id: 2498982
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I crawled through the brush with the scrapes on my hands,
my knees coated with layers of dirt and grime.
I stumbled to the ground with my spine looking back
and my face facing standards of time.
Inch upon inch upon broken tree branch
jutting upwards upon the thin path
leads straight to the meadow of sunshine and sin
and the graveyard, just further than that.
I crawl and I sigh and I mimic the birds
in their song of the infinite sky,
with my eyes trained to dirt realms below me
and my arms' patterned will to comply.
And I crawled and I sank in the mud's quirky breath
as it opened its jaws with each step,
but my mind was on fire and my heart lay ahead
as I licked the dried blood from my lips.
And out of the mist came a figure ahead,
standing, enjoying his sights
with a glimmer of honest bewilderment
as he palmed the brown earth in pale light.
I watched him circle the ground where he stood
and breathe in the brisk autumn air
and I found my eyes slowly moving
from the soil beneath me to stare
at the man who so easily took in the view
of a forest of angels upon him
without will to adhere to the swan song's ears
and the pressure of meadows ahead of him.
I rose to my feet and took a deep breath,
felt silence flow through my veins,
continued my path with my hands swinging forth
pointing toward my desired terrain.
It won't matter how far the meadow may be
for I'll get there all in due time,
so I might as well wander the forest
and breathe in the most basic layers of life.