There is this wood,

where when sunlight peeks

toward the evening dusk,

a magic, a certain mystique

occurs without any modern intervention.

 

The leaves, the density of forest

where eyes do watch me move,

they wait only for my passing,

and then their lives begin again,

in this natural heaven of

our current evolution.

 

When in this place of serenity,

I haven’t only the artificial glen

of natural wood outside a storefront,

the sort that pretties up the neighborhood,

to rely upon,

allow me to remove myself

from a world of evil,

a place of disdain,

whereby all the words hurt,

not only a few,

but every meant nuance is blurted

upon a society feeds upon negativity.

 

This is not found in the beauty of a serene wood

miles away,

with a purpose to dissuade our lives

from the machine,

the piston driving, oil based,

grind of a vulnerable mind,

worthy of fear and anxiety.

 

This wood contains only God.