Lamentation Forest
You lean your head against the pine tree bole
and look off to the side,
feeling as though a hole
sits in your solar plexus crater-wide,
seeking solace from a soulless tree.
While walking through this wood,
coat dragging on a sea
of crumbling cones and leaves, you think, I could
keep walking till the world’s gone. The gray coat
you wear is nineteen sizes
too big for you. A boat
had sailed its owner toward where the sun rises.
Your fingers grasp bare branches thin as pins
projecting from the trunk.
Soon winter’s biting winds
will whistle through these boughs. And soon a chunk
of shrapnel will rip into a man’s brain,
a man whose six-year-old
stands in a forest. Rain
will fall like shells. Wind penetrates each fold
of clothing, every gust a howling squall.
The raw air makes you tremble.
Soon a silent pall
will coat the land as armies reassemble.
Comments
Beautiful form and cadence to
Netwit aka the NightOwl
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Many thanks!
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