Storms ravage the woods,
they pull out
centuries old tree-trunks,
along with their roots.
I stand with a blank expression,
thinking no thinking will save me.
Thinking
feeling will cage me
and I will no longer be able to move.
Spring comes,
then another,
summers pass,
I start to wonder.
Was the feeling of terror life’s way of reaching out?
A gentle invitation in disguise of a tragedy,
the gateway to a celebration of oddities,
life begging
for more of me?
Spirit of Tara 