A Clearer Strategy. By CpSingleton © 2014
There’s a chanting from the forest,
It beckons me to walk in.
To surround myself in pine dust and
Ancient cobwebs that hang like
Fragile alarm bells, telling the centre
How far I have stumbled and
Crunched my way forward.
She is there, in the middle, on
A throne made from a carved
Stalactite. She waits for me.
Her patience paper thin, yet
Hope keeps the cramp from
Her back and legs. Memories
Fuel her tenacious spirit.
The songs of the sky birds fade,
So too the golden blanket of sun.
Pointy fingers, like a brighter-
Clothed wicked witch, stab where
The wooden guard is thinner,
Capturing the dance of disturbed
Dust as I blunder along
The springy, plush carpet of
Needle and dropped twig-lets.
All direction lost. The compass
Spinning, battling between
Two completely opposite poles.
I pass a…
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