thoughts from a forest path

stopped here once
when life was thoughtless;
lost but found,
somewhere between and astride
alive and wasting —

then, you said,
in times yet to come,
we would know,
and would feel;
but now, i’m a wooden bench,
hard and unyielding —

the green grows,
and the saplings breathe;
the wind cries
moving through,
for it has no home, nor bed,
just a restless fate

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s