Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

The Berheim Forest

There are woods and there are forests. A woods says come in and play. The Sun will always be visible through the soft maples and ash. A forest shivers you with a challenge from a blackened archway leading down to where no Sun dare shine. Such a place is the Berhheim Forest.

it travels deep
and narrow.
long and down.

not the forest
of little children
in jumpers and skips,
but of wayfaring spirits
in search of lost spells.

it is here,
where bogs were born
and hope died
along with maps
and good sense.

it is here,

the wind
pleads brave
but dares
as honour
begets death
in twisted

have angled
and flanked
to avoid the snares
of her invisible darkness
but fall in,
just the same.

no creatures scurry
or bound here,
they hide and creep
and plot
and ghost
in shadowed silence.

if you enter on Monday
and stay so through Wednesday,
your horse,
they’ll auction on Friday.

without black
there is no white
without the Berheim Forest
all we know
is sacred light

and dreamless sleep.