I sit here and look to the trees for answers,

while a hushed breeze falls from the leaves' laughter.

In our rumination of the past and the future,

always searching for meaning, forgetting what matters.

The beginning of "I" and its fated downward spiral,

breeding thoughts of madness, falling forever deeper,

into a darkness that swallows another's inner light.

The wind picks up—leaves fall like rain—to rest at our feet.

Life and death…held within a miracle, the trees replied,

Pulsing beneath us, a hymn of a hidden heartbeat,

Waiting anxiously not yet knowing what would betide!

From behind thy tears on the stained glass windows of my soul, I try and peek,

They are blind as can be as they hide and I seek,

Lost in the vortex of a vicious cycle,

With one foot in the grave…

We give up the ghost behind this pile…..

Of dust, gathering nuts in May,

A foolish battle with survival,

Where every step forward is another turn of the spiral,

Thunder rolls over hills of a slow crescendo,

Crimson light shines bright, bleeding through early mourning dew,

From moonbeams in the sunrise pouring rainbows of peacock blue,

Cradled in Mother Natures arms—reflections of me and you,

Six to one, half a dozen to the other,

Enforces the truth that Serenity is forged in the fires of a crucible,

Where the acceptance of both is existentially essential,

The wind intensifies lifting leaves in a cyclonic portrayal,

Of the death spiral of my grateful betrayal,

Inner turmoil complimenting the spirit within the soil,

As the grip on reality starts to uncoil,

We fall deeper in the abysmal dawn,

Where my memories of struggle to suffering continue to spawn,

In the dark corners of my psyche they creep and prey on,

My heartbeat ticking fast, ready to go off like a bomb,

As the spark inside is a flicker in the dark,

My blood boils as it continues to clot, while…

The sylvan symphony plays a song my soul long forgot,

Of times I was lost in that land of nought,

An empty space I scaled in scars is….

Nestled in the earth a miracle replete,

All that will be rests in the patient seed,

a waiting wholeness for the world's deep need.

I sit here and look to the trees for answers;

while a hushed breeze falls—from the leaves' laughter.

In my rumination of the past, and the future...

always searching for meaning, forgetting what matters.

The beginning of "I" and its fated downward spiral;

breeding thoughts of madness, falling forever deeper—

into a darkness that swallows another's inner light.

The wind picks up... leaves fall like rain... to rest at our feet.

Life and death: held within a miracle. The trees replied,

"Pulsing beneath us, a hymn of a hidden heartbeat."

Waiting anxiously, not yet knowing what would betide...

From behind tears, on the stained-glass windows of my soul, I try and peek.

(They are blank as can be, as they hide and I seek).

Lost in the vortex of a vicious cycle;

with one foot in the grave—

We give up the ghost behind this pile—

of dust, gathering nuts in May,

a foolish battle with survival,

where every step forward is another turn of the spiral.

Thunder rolls over hills, a slow crescendo...

Crimson light shines bright, bleeding through early morning dew,

from moonbeams in the sunrise pouring rainbows of peacock blue.

Cradled in Mother Nature's arms: reflections of me and you.

Six to one, half a dozen to the other,

enforces the truth that serenity is forged in the fires of a crucible;

where the acceptance of both is existentially essential.

The wind intensifies, lifting leaves in a cyclonic portrayal

of my death spiral: of grateful betrayal.

Inner turmoil, completing the spirit within the soil,

as the grip on reality starts to uncoil...

We fall deeper, in the abysmal dawn,

where my memories of struggle, of suffering, continue to spawn.

In the dark corners of my heart, they creep and prey on;

my heartbeat ticking... ready to go off like a bomb.

As the spark inside is a flicker in the dark,

my blood boils as it continues to clot.

The sylvan symphony plays a song my soul long forgot—

of times I was lost in that land of nought...

an empty space, scaled and scarred.

Nestled in the earth, a miracle replete;

all that will be rests in the patient seed,

a waiting wholeness for the world's deep need.

—TerrySalmon—