Tag: The Forest Is Alive

The Forest Is My Church

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Velvet winds soothe my battle scars in the navy blue moonlight,

My feet are enchanted, they keep moving out of wicked spite.

I kneel, letting my bare skin touch a softly frozen heap of snow.

The forest becomes my church, and I’m seated in the very first row.

Curious creatures peak through the branches to catch a glimpse,

Caterpillars and butterfly wings mix with sharp teeth and fins.

And the ground beneath me shakes with a long awaited relief,

Hugging my wounded parts and covering them gently, leaf upon leaf.

Foxgloves ring their bells thrice, the forest echoes their sound.

They search for my soul in all the boxes marked “lost and found”.

One night they will discover it and I will be pushed into the light

But for now the morning wearily calls us as my sanctuary

Vanishes from sight.

-JW

Losing You

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The trees take me in their arms and let my eyes wash away the sins.

The soft humming of the wind gives a shelter to this poor heart of tin.

And the forest comforts me but not like you, it doesn’t hold me tight,

It hears my curses and heals my aches but it’s not enough

To get me through the night.

The fog raises over the treetops, it covers all the mystical creatures,

The white mist lands on me in pity, sighs quietly like a preacher.

And I still feel a thousand times heavier with each step that I take.

My vain existence was a miniscule droplet but you –

You turned it into a lake.

The path right in front of me melts into shadows and silent alarms.

The pines surround me, they make me surrender the stolen arms.

And I resist to hand over my sharpest knives but they persist

By telling me how my own head’s a poison

And I’ll be missed.

The words are difficult to swallow so I burst into fiery laughter.

“The irony of it all, the one who ends it was also the starter.”

And I run for the edge but then stop just to fall on my knees.

A vision of your face pulls me back to ground

And for a second I feel peace.

-JW

Concrete Gods

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When nobody’s around, I sneak out to the forest to dance.

I greet every critter, I hold it in my trembling hands.

The moonlight pours its salvaging light over my arms,

It tingles my spine, releases all the pressure and harm.

So I waltz to the never-ending music of this greenery,

My bare thumbs touching every inch of the scenery.

The lines in my palms blossom like rare spring flowers

But they fade when the sky releases the sunlight showers.

I return to my shelter, re-entering my life more than sleepless,

Pretending to blend in with those walking around heatless.

When there are people around, I hide my muddy feet,

I secretly cross my fingers when admitting complete defeat.

Each afternoon we all bow to the same concrete gods,

Then go home and unwrap our faces from the phony gauze.

When they all go to sleep, I sneak into the forest to scream.

The soundwaves escaping my lips scorch the chartreuse leaves.

-JW

To Escape The Neon Hourglass

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My feet are carrying me ahead – through the dense forest, down the hill.

Trees squeezing together tightly to keep me from moving, to keep me still.

I know the night is almost over but the branches refuse to let in the sun –

As long as they convince me that the darkness endures, I believe I am the only one.

There is a gleam in the distance, it spins like a disco ball, it blurs my vision.

My boots sink into the moss as I trip over the shrubs trying to escape this gimmick.

But there is nowhere to go, only this evergreen vault crushing my ribs.

I am crawling and panting, the thought of stopping seems sweeter than figs.

No, there must be a path that leads to the other side, there must be some hope.

The woods chuckle at my silliness as a breeze pushes me on a downward slope.

My nails are bloody, fingers so raw they burn, knuckles whiter than snow.

The tentacles of another violent forest creature drag me towards the neon glow.

I stab with all my anger, I bite and snarl until it drops me in the grass.

“Keep your head down,” I repeat to myself, managing to ignore the hourglass.

With the force of a hurricane I grab my hunting knife and hurry away,

Through leaves, cones and pine needles my legs fight the desire to stay.

Even through my frantic breathing I hear the black abyss collapsing behind me.

I stumble closer to the real light, it is darting towards me, lukewarm and shiny.

The forests fail to claim my body yet another time, but they will return.

One day I might gather the courage to let all the twigs and roots burn –

But not today. If I only sprint faster,

I can take a step closer to the point of no return.

-JW

And The City Lights Followed

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Too often I forget that it’s never completely and utterly dark in this city.

I crave the feeling of opening my eyes at night, my despair sitting with me,

And staring into the pitch black darkness. It’s rather revealing.

But I wake up each night to sirens or the neighbours viciously heaving.

It’s never dark enough for me to stumble upon something yet undiscovered

So I put my head under the covers to distract me from the blossoming colors.

The white noise coming from the electric buzz of neon chases me,

Down the halls, across the roads, into the trees which once sung me to sleep.

Have I even slept for the last couple of years, have I really dreamt?

The city lights pour down my jawbone humming, “You have been exempt

From the long hours, scary shadows under the trees, from your own claws.”

Yet nowadays my lips reach for the phone when a yesterday calls.

Perhaps I’m narrating this because it could be taken away if I stop,

If I look back one last time and the woods no longer echo the plot,

If the paths through our favorite pines or birches forget my flowery scent,

I might wake up one day burning my sanity to cover the rent…

Therefore I ran and the city lights followed,

The noose around me glowed fluorescent.

-JW

The Blue-Skinned Girl

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The trees are no longer calling for my blood or reaching for my neck.

They stand tall, branches oscillating steadily, all roots on deck.

I hear the stories still making their rounds about “how they oppressed her”,

“The blue-skinned girl turning the forest too distant and dismal.”

Rest assured, I never begged anyone to deal with my chaotic conundrums,

Never broke a branch I couldn’t grow back during one of my tantrums.

Yet the word is faulty and rumours can get flimsy, they flit.

The power of one well-timed curse can make or break the fire pit.

I’ve received my fair share of burns, some of them – self-inflicted.

The trees added insults to injury, they stirred the fire until I was addicted,

And people kept saying, “That’s what you get when you dance in the dark.”

So I stayed in the forest, counting my bruises, cutting open new marks.

The years piled up, the black sky grew quieter, the villagers got hungrier.

My house settled, all the spiky walls turned softer and sturdier.

The trees are no longer calling for my blood or reaching for my neck.

They stand beside me, branches saluting calmly, roots bowing in respect.

-JW

The Man In The Forest

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He looked at me through the window each night. He was there at 9 PM without a fault.

You could barely tell if you didn’t look hard enough – but if you did,

There was a cigarette burning in the piny vault.

The forest surrounded the house tightly. I know, it was highly unlikely for anyone to be in this lair.

But… look at the trees by the shack and tell me that you don’t see

A lighter sparkling like the state fair.

There was also the noise, rain dripping on his plastic coat ever so gently. Impossible to miss it.

I’ve lived in these woods for two decades, this is way off, yet the cop told me:

“Don’t be so hot headed, little missy.”

What else could I do? I locked the doors, bolted the windows, left the knife close by just in case.

Each morning I found fresh footprints in the mud, it almost seemed

As if he’d picked up the pace.

And then he started leaving me gifts. Was it a cruel joke, was it just to prove nobody cares?

He knew I haven’t had any visitors since he started this charade.

He knew I’m unravelling tear by tear.

I moved into the second storey three days ago – hoping more doors will grant me some peace.

There was a photo of me sleeping on the kitchen table the next morning.

It seems the bastard has my keys.

So I’m not sleeping tonight. I’m not bravely waiting by the door, I’m under the living room table,

Terrified, small, feeling the adrenaline punching a hole in my brain,

Waiting for my pulse to become stable.

He can’t see me if he comes in through any of the doors, can’t hurt me or frighten my chilly bones.

For the longest time I don’t hear anything at all, it’s suspicious.

“But he would know where I am if he’s already inside my home.”

The thought reaches me too late, he rushes in from the kitchen and blocks the way.

It’s too dark to see his face but I can tell he’s smiling as he speaks:

“A lovely hideaway, dear, too bad your daddy refused to pay.”

-JW