Prayer

it is like a skeleton -
this once magestic forest
quiet the echoes of green youth
are almost sad
not broken, though, not broken
the charred forest stands straight
tall - even regal
despite its
confidence
arrogance
ornaments
pride
having been
burnt away . . .

its soul has been whipped
it stands naked - stripped
as I stand here now

but a tiny bit of green
suffocates its way to the top
bursting firewords arrival
struggling
this little hope
such courage
such strength
the forest is -
I am starting over.

Poem is (C)opyright 1997, Helen. Reproduction in any form is prohibited by law.