Call to me with foreign tongues,
Upon a melody long forgotten.
That I may come wandering into these woods,
We’re memories walk trails forbidden.
Where trees groan with the weight of human thoughts,
And shed tears upon those who dare walk beneath their bows.
Cast your eyes round about broken stone and swaying grasses,
As the very elements breathe within this place.
So have you come to this whispering wood,
And so you may ever be a part of these unending secrets.
Author’s note: January can be a tricky writing season for me. As chill winds and gray scenes seem to steal my resolve and inspiration, I challenge myself to fill my disquieted parts with fantasy. So for these last January moments, walk with me between trees of ages past and be lost to endless secrets.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.