Spirit of the Forest

11 12 2012


The song that sounds the best it seems, unfettered by the earthly dreams,
is sung by forests deep and green, their crown the harp and so serene.
Their arteries where blood does flow, in rock and soil rich they grow.
The living hair, a wondrous thing, elves so fair, that come in spring.

Awake with all the joyous glow, as sap and buds begin to flow,
they glance not once at seasons past, they sleep no more – the spell is cast.

They grow along the blighted path, in lichen fair, they have surpassed,
the toil of winters frozen snows, the gale of all her icy blows.
Amongst the living, now they lie, green and gold upon the eye,
and all the lovely things on earth, shine their light – and feel their worth.
The ancient forests shining lair, the crown and rings of earth so fair,
have never ceased to shine their light, upon the land so fine and bright.

Faces in the sway of trees, alive with gentle flowing breeze,
speak of nothing – and of all – lamplights bright and standing tall,
amongst the fair and brightest things, that float amongst the angels wings,
alight with all the brightest glow, they speak in volumes what they know.

A tender ear may hear the sound, swimming in a sparkling cloud,
angels voices seldom heard, singing songs that have no words…

‘Come to me, my children fair, and live amongst the flowing hair,
of ancient forests grown again, from prairies fair, from bog and fen.
Kindle me only at need, and never for power or greed.
For I am the blood of the earth… in flowing lies most of my worth.
The rich current lies in the flesh of my soul, my towering standards the forests of old.

From the silver spring breeze, gently gilded with gold,

to the hills barren knees, will my tale be told…

The forest is one with the earth and the sky, knowing alone it could never survive.
Nor would it want to be left all alone, apart from the spirit of soil and stone.
Brothers and sisters in one living place, loving the flavor of all that they taste.
Comparing not one to another great part – of what is creation – and already art.

The ethereal passion, of winters green trees,

brings hope to the spirit, and flesh to it’s knees.

May it always be so.

May we never regret.

May the blood always flow.

May we never forget…





10 responses

11 12 2012
brian miller

nice…love all the nature touches in this….def already art out there waiting to be found…i really like the intalicized in the middle as well….very lyrical as if song….smiles.

11 12 2012

Thanks brian, good to see you. I’ll be by later on to read a bit. Cheers!

11 12 2012
Heaven (@asweetlust)

What a lovely ode to nature’s spell ~ I like the prose, cut in by the italic voices ~ May we never forget ~

11 12 2012

Thank Heaven(hey, that’s really cool, had to go back and take out the ‘s’!)
And may some please remember…

14 12 2012

love the melody of your poem…and the naturey glance..

17 12 2012

Thank you, my friend. I’m glad it sang to you. 🙂

17 12 2012
Judith Shaw

beautiful and so true

18 12 2012

Thank you. Many blessings.

24 12 2012

I really digg this poem brother

24 12 2012

Thanks my friend. Spent a while at yours too. I appreciate the connection! Write on!

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