When I was a child
I would walk into the forest,
and wonder how so many things
could remain untouched
and unsullied by humanitys
outstretched hands.
"They must want to."
I'd think,
but there must be strong magic here
to pervert those tendencies.
I didn't feel it then,
or maybe didn't understand
what I was feeling.
When I was a young man
I would walk into the forest
and wonder how ancient
the universe was,
thinking,
"It must be a wise and thoughtful entity, that preserves such places."
Some great magnitism that holds
these places together.
And maybe magnitism
is some sort of preventative magic,
or last resort contigency,
when things grow too desperate,
or too important to lose.
When I was an adult
I would walk into the forest
and wonder why
I didn't come here more often.
The poison of modern humanity
had settled deep in my vessel,
unwilling or unable to reverse
the natural course of the pathogen of time.
Alarmed, I sat thinking,
"Maybe the magic here now works against me."
When I was an old man
I would walk into the forest
and wonder how many more times
I could come back here,
before the void reclaimed
the energy spent on my creation.
It was a simple price
we all paid
for the time
we've borrowed.
And all at once,
I didn't have to wonder
why the magic hadn't faltered
on its duty in preserving
these ancient woodlands.
Because I knew then,
that I too
would soon become
part of this magic.
-Kevin James
