We walk beneath a fettled roof of leaves,
Where beasts maraud and insects form a line.
The trail of many bones & lost beliefs
Becomes the route that guides your heart & mine,
And as we make our way through ancient paths
We cut, we hack & slash to find our way,
To push beyond the flora’s hissing laugh,
To feel the sweat drip through the trees that sway.
The night falls fast, the sounds fall faster still,
The hoots and screaming howls in blinding dark
Constricts our ribs with fear & tests our will,
Their imprints on our flesh so plain & stark.
The curve of spines, of napes around our being,
More sensile than a heart more than we’re seeing.

Image credit:Gandalf's Gallery; Henri Rousseau
Michael Ashley

Michael Ashley is a poet who lives in Spain. Focusing on straightforward simple poetry, the sharp and accessible type!

 

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