buried-in-poems: Forest Pathway

The branches of the forest

intertwine above my head.

Long ago stories, of ancestors past,

float in the breezes

that drift softly

past the trees.

Children skip down the forest path,

around my invisible form.

Proud parents

mingle and follow them;

A parade of joyful

passerby, searching for something

they cannot see.

A circle of light,

A portal,

meets my eye.

Get through this

fantasy forest,

You must rush

to beat the

mingled crowd.

Spots of light fall

between the Russet leaves,

Patterns of sunlight

beneath my silent tread.

Reaching up,

I touch the branches,

brush my hand against

the trees.

I’m almost there,

almost.

I pass a time worn bench,

an inscription meets my eye,

“Good Luck To All Who Search,

Be Wary Of The Passerby.

Don’t Follow The Crowd,

For They Cannot See The Gold;

Follow The Straight Path,

And See.”

I struggle on, past the mass,

who cannot see the end

of this fair woods.

Their eye cannot catch the Light,

their foot takes them

on

a purposeless walk.

The Light is getting closer,

and I, I am almost there.

‘Goodbye, Earth,’

I whisper,

and just a few steps more

are needed

to take me through.

I turn around on the threshold,

and watch the people left behind.

Their souls will wander far and wide

searching for the entrance,

To the other shore.