The Pine Forest
Never have I indulged in the smell of the pine tree.
I imagine an old man of importance,
And rich with great stories would smell the same.
Taking moments to meditate in the scent and feel the tales of other days.
Can you hear the hurt that moans on its way through the leaves,
Or feel the hope when new life springs out of old limbs?
Life forever continuing.
Maybe the scent makes your nose itch.
Maybe the smell just matches that of any other rose.
Never have I indulged in the sight of animals scurrying across the ground floor.
Purposes and survival skills keep them from dangerous grips.
What must it be like, to not be happy or sad,
To always have the strength to keep going?
What must it be like to know no end,
Or to not be able to hold onto any hope?
I imagine a family constantly living paycheck to paycheck,
Always struggling to put food on the table,
But also not depressed by any means.
Never have I indulged in the secrets of shadows.
Cool shade is what they gift to many
But there is always this unknown lurking in its depths.
Trying to detach itself,
And or dreaming of other places
But never will they leave.
I imagine someone frightened and or someone who committed many sins,
And in their nakedness shame they hide
Always in the end to be drawn out of the bushes by the sunlight above.
Never have I indulged in the many things of the forest.
Few forests there are
But they always have an endless amount of parts.
There is a quiet beauty about them
But also such a loud spirit.
One could get lost in a forest,
That much is true.
I imagine though,
That I might not much mind.