October 23, 2008
By Garrett Foster, Auxvasse, MO

Snow crunches beneath my feet in a rhythm all its own
Like a trumpets blast or a drums beat all in the perfect tone
I have no destined path let my spirit be my guide
Wind sharpens my senses, eyes are opened wide
I walk into the forest the trees are not so dense
This is the meaning of beauty not a house or picket fence
The sounds are all intriguing each one is unique
As simple as a falling leaf or as a small birds squeak
I never knew the world for what it really stands
A canvas of pure nature and a brush within my hand
The day grows tired resides and takes the light
The forest now looks different in the dead of night
Trees are packed closer, their branches seem sharp
Harmony is removed a string cut on the harp
Sounds are not so pleasing, they start to hurt the ears
Red eyes glow in the distance, injecting a shot of fear
Maybe it was not so smart to venture out here alone
With no light or map, and certainly not a phone
Panic starts to set, but quickly turns and slows
All I have to do is look down at the snow
I scan the ground for markings, tracks made with my boots
My eyes are not rewarded in their frantic search for loot
No footsteps remain for they all have been covered up
Now trapped in this forest lost like a stray mut
Where did I come from, how did I arrive
A useless question no answer I can derive
No one will come looking they knew not of my venture
Trying would be as useless as a old man without dentures
I should have been more careful kept my mind more keen
Realized that some footsteps will always go unseen

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This article has 1 comment.

on Nov. 2 2008 at 4:59 am
duuuuuuuuuuuude! real touchin

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