here's something I posted on my blog and meant to crosspost here, since your post gave me direction: burlap the roots and sash in the branches, verdant wall, no longer hewn, only nature's slow grow no human tips or toes, your restless roots stray from the crowded touch
At first they seem out of place, as if dropped there by some unknown hand. Flint grey stone stairs, carved from something singular, sitting on the forest floor. They emerge from nothing. They lead to nowhere. They startle, they surprise, they anger, they amuse. The first thought is to ascend them, step up from the spongy forest floor and onto hard stone, count the eight steps as you climb them to the top and go . . . but there is nowhere to go. You , who know nothing, think there is nowhere to go. You, who see nothing, think they do not belong . . .
Words are welcome here.
here's something I posted on my blog and meant to crosspost here, since your post gave me direction:
ReplyDeleteburlap the roots and sash in the branches, verdant wall, no longer hewn, only nature's slow grow
no human tips or toes, your restless roots stray from the crowded touch
At first they seem out of place, as if dropped there by some unknown hand. Flint grey stone stairs, carved from something singular, sitting on the forest floor. They emerge from nothing. They lead to nowhere. They startle, they surprise, they anger, they amuse. The first thought is to ascend them, step up from the spongy forest floor and onto hard stone, count the eight steps as you climb them to the top and go . . . but there is nowhere to go. You , who know nothing, think there is nowhere to go. You, who see nothing, think they do not belong . . .
ReplyDelete