Seclusion

The air is smoother out amongst the trees and quickly one can lose the scent of fuel, arrogance and complicated life; the rustling leaves as wind so softly swept on the hills, and hosts of animals and seas can fill the most exhausted ears of mine. As slow as crawling, vicous, leering time I tread so lightly; further, forever towards the streaks of red and maze, the others I dare to imagine are past my skill to write. I walked the way they did, a sign of loss in forming words the way they spoke. For all I said and did I stayed as broke as days of past; but nothing could replace The woods I stand in now, I feel the dirt in trembling hands, I dare to look behind and see a dense and rising cloud of smoke. Yet i think I hear the rivers ending.