hunter beast tracks confess words relic inky drift echo holy stars magic
Stars Can Be Seen.
"The stars are always there,
even when we can't see them."
– Anonymous
Within the woods
The beasts still roam.
Some leave tracks
Others leave just echos,
Heard faintly, drifting
In the trees and glens
Of that holy land.
The echoes, returning voices,
That tease and taunt,
Like hunters stalking,
Wearing down their prey.
Words, phrases, memories,
Relics of a past life,
Hit their target,
Drawing confessions
Opening nagging wounds,
Sapping the energy.
◊
But the woods are alive
With much more than
The hunter and the hunted.
Beneath the inky black sky
Where, like magic, the moon
And stars can be seen—
The gamekeeper watches.
◊
You've really shot for the stars and hit your target this time, Mr Poet. What an amazingly layered piece this is. So many aspects come straight from the boundless heart or the unconscious. You would know. When we by-pass the 'mental' realm we paint in words that transcend language. Thank you for this gift.
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