The forest slowly burns
A foul stench and ashy flavor clogs your throat.
The forest burns.
Everything is running, attempting to escape,
That is, everything but you.
You stand still, watching the chaos and simply watch
The forest burns
You make not a move, not a motion, why would you?
Your life falls apart, landing at your feet,
Do you care?
The forest burns.
This is your life, your home is burning.
You somehow caused this, indirectly,
It discreetly crept up on you.
The forest burns.
You stare, you can do nothing.
The forest is ash.
It spared you, but has scarred your mind, your heart.
Ash falls on your hair and you lie down, dig a small crevice,
You breathe in, it's not pleasant.
What are you to do?
You may ask,
'Where is this forest?'
Where am I?
The forest is not my life, not anymore.
The life has been drained, the mind numb, almost dead.
What am I to do?
Somehow, the forest still burns.
Inside
YOU ARE READING
Mirrors
PoetryShort poems I've made. They were made at different points in time. They are a bit of a reflection. I hope you like them.
