I’ll be waiting in the forest
Where no light finds the branches
Of the mangled dying trees
Yet insects buzz with certainty
That they will not die today
Even when the sun has deserted them
And the cold wind
Burns their icy souls
And the stale air pierces their shriveled lungs.
Dogs cry out in the night
But what is night and what is day
When there’s never any light
In this forest without a soul
Without a breath of life
Besides the insects that lie in wait
Inside the gutted, dying trees
As they wilt and tilt and block our way.
Your voice hovers
And I listen for the gasp
When you run out of oxygen
Because the dying, crying trees will take it
And the insects will hide it
Like they hid our souls
In the cold and desolate hollows
Of the old and dying trees.
And you want to hear the truth
As the wind carries it on a whisper
From the cracked and chapped lips
Of our friends the trees
And our loves the insects.
But when it penetrates your ears
You fall in despair
Because the truth is not truly what you wanted to hear
And it never was
Nor will it ever be
Because the truth is
That we are dead
And this is all that there is.
Trees and insects and you and me
And the total absence of oxygen
And the absolute absence of light.
© Copyright 2017 Phoebe Kishbaugh. All rights reserved.
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