When alone in this world when trampled upon when thought of as weak and unknowing there is a place I go. Far beyond the reach of any other person. Far past city streets and glaring lights. Far out into the wilderness I go. Where little brooks bubble along smooth pebbles where paths are made not by rubber but paws where nature is untouched and stained not I go. Alone is how the wood stands stacked up and squared. Rough wood without finish, sap, old and dry, still potent and sweet on the breeze I go. A small crack allows passage into this safe house whose walls are welcoming voices drawing me in. a swelling in my chest puffs me up as I go. No one, no where, no way can find it. Deeply burided as if treasure I keep it Only the walls move for my passage. I am its only friend and it is mine when I go. Rustling leaves, owl hoots, and whispering winds- my own lullaby sung to me by Earth herself. I'm given protection from uncaring, digusting behaviors as long as I promise to do no harm to where I go. Is the city that bad? To have to go so far? yes, it is at times. Pollution is the air and hate is the water so that is why I go. |