Elsewhere

~ a poem about being

Forest II

~ tales from a mysterious, melancholy, and meaningful forest

The words flowed out once more.

~ a poem about reality

Death is not the real loss.

We spend so much time inside our own mind.

What to do with it,
this inexplicable hubris of hate.

We are all buried.
From the Beginning,
inside this ground.

In life’s sprawl of action
An insurmountable force, The Dragon,

Why do we read?