Forest Time

This place of moss and mist
where dark loam feeds and liquid air drips
and giants kiss eternity -
this place stops time.

Inside this world of earth-born movement
even the air gestates.
Life exhales and slakes,
creeps and burrows,
leaps and scurries,
climbs and flutters,
nourishes, suckles,
spinning a spiraling web
of reincarnation and revelation.

As I breathe these whispers, wise and evergreen,
I come to believe heaven is covered in moss.

Lost In Thought

My mind is a forest.
On lazy Sundays
I leave a trail of breadcrumbs
To find my way back home.
The better worn pathways
Skirt safely about the edges.
Delve deeper
And they all disappear
Into overgrown, tangled
Life -
Dark and thick, dense and wild,
Utterly under-explored.
I follow a flash of feathers and fur,
A birdcall,
The sound of cataracts and wind tunnels,
Until I am lost.

Lost In the Forest, by Cynthia J. McGean

When you're lost in the forest,
  Too-loo and Froo-froo,
The Jungian, Freudian dreams-may-come-true
Of your unconscious subconscious conches
Will swirl
Into whirling-unfurlingly curly-cue whorls
of worlds
     within worlds
            within worldliness churls.
Keep your eyes peeled, my chickens!
This ain't no fairytale forest.
This is one big, bad-ass, mother of pearly-whites
white-hot, red-hot, hot-rod, cattle-prod forest.
Boldly go there.
Part the curtains of Spanish moss and broken promises,
Empty praise and failed wannabes
And enter the inner sanctum
Naked and bold,
Fear shining in the palm of your hand
Forever until morning.