The forest looms.
Up the hill, darkness fills the spaces
between tree trunks.
Very little grows
in the heart of the forest.
As we pass by
about the nature of this forest.
Is it kind or sinister?
Some forests welcome
with open arms (or branches).
Birds fill the empty spaces with song.
You know you belong.
But some are dark and cold.
No songs, no light, no flowers.
Just a shudder as you pass by quickly.
I look up at a forest undecided.
What path will it take:
Friendly or cold
And a tiny chill runs down my spine.
©2010, Liza Lee Miller.