Tuesday, March 03, 2009

The Meadow






As Bambi's mother
Led her fawn
Onto the meadow
And was gone,


So I was shown,
And, thus, exposed
To pastures where
Foreboding bodes.


Without the trees
That hide the sun,
The vast expanse
Belied the gun.


For when the shot
Shattered the calm,
The earth became
A maelstrom.


The moment's shock,
The past forgot,
I ran to where
I had been not.


In foreign forests,
Overgrown,
I realized
I was alone.


And in the absence
Of my mother,
The canopy,
My only cover,


The meadow, then,
Proposed a test
Of fortitude
And mindfulness.


While I still graze
Beyond the grove,
The hand recalls
The burning stove.







10 comments:

Michael said...

Amazing.

Terry (YaKdUsT) said...

Great words!

A Strange Boy said...

I really like this.

Horace said...

Crazy, crazy, crazy good. Dope, even.

Bergen St said...

I love everything here. You need to post more

Terry or internet world "Yakdust" said...

Hope that you write again soon!

billyevil said...

I'm really enjoying this blog alot, I was wondering when the next post will come.. the honesty is very refreshing..

Hirsh said...

There so much good stuff here! I wish you would share more. I really like the way you keep it real. Surely you have more to say... share it! :)

david said...

Nice vision.
I think the Smokey Bear story mirrors this same ending line:

"The hand recalls
The burning stove."

Perhaps even more apropos...

Anonymous said...

Wow!