Tuesday, December 16, 2014

the dead wood


The dead wood
Lying on the ground
Barely breathing in the air
As the light slowly reflects away

It has fallen
During the thunderstorm
Lashing on the shores and forests
The unlucky few dropped or cut into shapes

The dead wood agents
They are still warming up the ground
In time the attack will begin
Unless the dead wood can breathe its roots

The woodcutter hunts in the forest
Collecting wood for the cold weather
The dead wood has no such luck
The woodcutter cuts into logs and ties it up

In the forest
The deadly wind whisper
The woodcutter quickly makes home
Across the river to safe haven


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