A random bit of poetry.

The Man in the Wild.

Tossed forward was he,

eyes sharpened by caution

and shined by the unheeded fear flooding through veins,

thick as tendrils of wisdom and valour,

thin as the wisps of a babe's new hairs.

Skin tickled and trickled

with the nerve endings adapting

to the strange and wonderous surroundings,

coating them like the velvet blanket

of winter across the land.

Wandering a lost road

with the map of wit and logic,

nothing but a shade of bravery

to cover the coward

slinking beneath the surface,

hidden by the mask of strength,

fed by the whispered words from the darkness.

Neither cottage nor castle

to his beck and call did appear,

his weary feet never stopping

in the endless trail they carved

through stone and sand,

gravel and mud.

The cries of a wolf

to the silver moon did reach

his high alert ears,

twitching like the sensitive nose

of a newborn mouse,

waiting for its mother to appear

and tuck it away safely into her fur.

Darkened skies accompanied him

on a journey through shrub and tree,

with the endless choir

of cicadas by his side

and the alluring hoot

of owls of old

as they scour the night floor

for their pray.

The shine of the silver dime

resting anciently in the heavens

revealing the bubble

of a newborn stream of life,

to which he drank his fill

and wiped his dirt ridden face.

Down rolling hills,

steeper than a descent into hell

his heart did dance with the wind

as it passed him by

in but a breathless whisper.

Stoned walls of former glory,

a refuge for the lost and found

in this haven for creatures

of our Creators great imagination.

His muscles protested

like the cry of a babe,

pulled into the cold white world

before their contented time

as he lay on a surface,

flat and cold as a gravestone

upon which was written

his last breath.

Eyes softening with the unending allure

that sleep beckoned to him

like a siren to sailors,

lost upon the raging seas.

Dreams of safety,

of familiarity and warmth,

encompassing him from all sides

as he lay in a temporary death

to the world outside of his mind.

Golden beams of God,

sliding across his visage

like a warm hand of caress

pulling him from death

to life once more.

Wits and thoughts were gathered,

collected into a bottle

which he stored dutifully in his mind

for later use in the journey

through the gardens of God.

With steady footsteps that faltered

and a hard gaze of soft origins,

he continued his path,

hidden by doubt and clouded by fear

regardless of either

he progressed through the greenery,

to his journeys end.

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