Lady of the Wood (re-post)

dryad marc potts

 

“When patterns are broken, new worlds emerge.”

Tuli Kupferberg

She walked out the door
violently ignoring the voices
reminding her of her station
her duties
trying to bind her with slippery bonds of guilt
twisted thornily with prestige
she looked neither back nor sideways
her feet never faltered
in their urgent compulsion
towards the woods
the crying she had done nightly
in secret
into her pillow
now surged out of her
for the first time unchecked
a tidal wave of misery
pain released freely
because no one could hear her
they would not follow into those woods
the trees were different there
the air was silent
and time passed as it wished
the herbs and grasses
guided her by scent
as crying still she crossed the border
under a canopy of vigilant leaves
where her heart was finally calmed
finally comforted
and there she still stays….

*artwork by marc potts*

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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