Soft is the wind ere the trees
And rough is my voice running through each
As are flowers in the month of June, so beautiful
And yet cursed by the coming fall
As after which, above the earth, all else will fall
Until the clouds and morning dew have meld in, above the heath
Ungrown as I am in the mind of you
But it would not be so, if you would see me through

Deep in the heart of the silent backwoods
Heart racing, palms glazed silver with sweat, I walk.
I walk alone.
Feet crunching earth,
The rich, bitter scent of wet moss in October
snakes into my nostrils,
A dark and cautious entity, filling my head with whimsical fancies.
I drink it in, like a beggar nursing his Absinthe
Allowing the night air to probe my nose and mouth.
A twig snaps.
Am I Alone?
But I'm protected by the night, the quiet, charming night,
And now I'm spinning, laughing, drunk on the air!
These backwoods are full of midnight musings, strange faces and all the colors of faerie
Still I walk and the woods are silent.
Neither cricket's whisper nor owl's hoot can penetrate the scream of this total silence
The air shifts, heavy with a slick metallic presence. Goosebumps and a muffled whimper.
I don't mind that I'm not alone.