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The Aspen quaked in mild calm.
A stream nearby sent riffled song.
This trail less trod now almost gone.
‘Twas barren once now grown quite long.

Around a bend and down a steep
therein the brush from somewhere deep
here mixed with woodland chirps and cheeps
slid sounds and sobs of sorrows weeps.

Out there somewhere in higher grass
beyond the tangled thorn tree sash
just past a swamp of slimy mash
a sorrowed soul seems has been cast.

A dragonfly in silence soars.
Below the flies held tight to beasts manure.
Through brush and briar where none before.
Slogging sludge-of-swamp to reach the shore.
Stopped at edge of stench thus endured.
Much closer now to sobs of sorrows lure.

On rotting log a mossy clump.
The spider gone in one quick jump.
A deer takes run with heavy thump
startling me too cause me slump.

Still not in sight – here not yet found,
‘top slippery rock I look around
o’re growth below that shows no ground.
When there – the source of sorrows sound.

Hidden mid some thick green fern.
With face in hands as if from burn.
His arms to knees as if to learn.
He did not look nor did he turn.

A lad of more-or-less of ten plus three
there sobbing softly I could see.
What sort of problem could it be?
Without words or look – ‘twas known to me.

A lie was told to cause unfold his sorrows pain.
Lies ‘seldom’ hold or cause of this contained.
More often Truth holds pain ordained.
Like most in world - I cared ‘not’ remain.

I turned around – I left him there
as few would do – else ‘lie’ of care.
Roads worn bare by lies are everywhere.
Trails of Truth – they wreak despair.
Now oft I wonder -- how did he fare.


Sorrows Lure
by: Shadow Seeker 2016 Copyright

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