There's a thing in the woods that I cannot see,
Stood with solid grass-green eyes and rotted teeth,
a willow-thin neck, Contorted.
But oh, how I've seen
but a glance of this thing
- Within my dreams -
Sat beneath an oak and pine tree;
(I’d felt uncertainty).
Now, I feel as though I'm lost,
Lost in the despair of a fated dream,
Watching as the being sits, solid beneath the heavy oak and pine tree.
A liquid rolling down the leaves,
It sits and sips the life completely free;
Directly from the oak and pine tree.
Looking towards the open sky, I cry,
But unlike the thing to be, beneath the heavy tree,
My tears, perhaps, unheard.
The thing pushing me,
to question the future of my, perhaps, predetermined dreams;
Am I Stood tall? Or short,
Secured within a castle? Or a fractured dream?
But either way, I wait patiently, watching the thing,
Standing beneath the tree that I cannot see.
And beyond my control,
it begins setting flame to the soon to be,
it's source of life that makes it free:
The oak and pine tree.
The forest that was once known to me,
And as I watch the life degrade, the dreams from deep within me fray;
Burning slowly, blown away,
Through the air to form, to breed,
And as the smoke clears,
I see something lying between the burning leaves,
Besides the toppled heavy tree,
Something I can barely see.
What could it be?
No, perhaps -- just me:
of Withered leaves.