Poetry

What Do The Woods Hide?

Dearest mother

I am your first born

I am your miracle child

But there are no miracles, mother

Dearest father

I am your first born

I am your artist child

But art is dead, father

Dearest brother

I am your only sibling

I am your first friend

But friends leave, brother

Dearest sisters

I am the youngest of you all

I am your baby sibling

But people grow up, sisters

All these people raised me

All these people were there when the world was not

But people lose touch

And forget the way out of the dark

They follow a winding trail

To a cottage at the bottom of the cliff

And they never come back, do they?

They disappear and forget the world

They forget the feeling of a smile

The sunlight

A kiss

They stay down in the cottage

Never leaving, ever aging

Until the world truly goes black