At the edge of the forest resurrecting itself
seed by seed, sapling by sapling,
we are stopped; for all the old paths
leading through it, the ones we
so often walked through the decades,
in the shadow of the old evergreens,
are grown over. In their place thickets
of young birches, junipers and willows,
firs and pines, and to carve
a new path would be to put our crushing
feet on that exuberant life,
bursting from the ground towards the
sky, seeking the Sun -
& giving us hope of something
greater than these short existences
in which we, in our fragile
consciousnesses, are
bound into. There is no entrance
which wouldn't be violence.
So we don't force ourselves,
we who are closed out by our nature,
not part of this explosive rebirth,
with only those shadowed paths
in our memories left for us,
as we start to fade
from the landscape.
22.02.2021
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