I was the tree in your forest,
          but you threw a match

on the undergrowth of my insecurities.

Never letting me grow, a potential

           to flourish, grow upwards,


But you burnt me down,
           every emotion was tinder's

I was ash below your feet,
              but when one is burnt

down to many times.

One becomes more resilient to
           the flames that are lit on purpose.


Unyielding you lit to many matches,
         and the last time one stood tall.

Untouched by your demoralization,
             and i grew past you

and now my forest is blossoming
         i grew ever stronger

now that your words burnt out.

The tangled under-story dwells
above dark earth, the ground's foundation:
listen to the tale it tells
while the wind's damp susurration
passes by on raven's wings.
All around us voices sing
of elder days, when on this ground
no human footprint could be found.
The under-story still remembers
life alone beneath the tress
where forest gods might bend their knees
and coax new shoots from winter's embers.
Ready always with the flame
of spring they leap to life again.