The wood doth call - a poem by Tara Staunton

Thou knowest why, the skull grins and the stone bleedeth,

is thou not but aware of wicked deeds, lieth you not, in wait like a tiger scorned, ready to tear the handsomed flesh of the noble creature, that creature so full of beauty in hoof and stride- does thine heart not beat and mourn at the misgivings of thine own pride! So fickle is thine ways, so sterile are thine actions.

Time moves fast-

Look now upon the trees listen thee at the lark, sing now with the brook, bend thou to the rose. Understand that the moon doth change the tides, and the sun doth make the flowers bright. Wed yourself, like a blushing bride, bask in natures light. Accept that this is not the end, suspend your darkness in this hour.

- The forever wind will carry your epatah, accept this and it will not turn sour.

You need not know the secrets yet, it will all be- to soon to come,

the wood will beckon when it will

and your time will be done.


  1. tarastaunton posted this