Wicked Symphony – A Poem

I’ve been here before.

The trees are so familiar to me now.

I trace my fingertips along the ridges

in the bark that feel like fingerprints.

The leaves of the tree are shades

of red and faded ochre,

but they have dried now,

no longer wet and dripping with

the blood that they once took

from me. The wood is no longer

full of life and is brittle under my touch.

I begin to walk through the forest

that I know so well, the trees which

have taken so much from me.

I can’t hear the birds anymore,

just the sound of the wind through

the leaves. I walk on and leave the forest

behind me, not sure what I will find

at the end of the path beneath my feet.

After the forest, there is only a wide expanse

of grass so green it doesn’t look real.

I can hear my footsteps whispering

along with the sound of my breathing and

the beating of my heart keeping rhythm.

With a few more steps, I see a small hill

in the distance. When I get closer,

I realize the small hill is a mountain.

When I am finally right in front of it, I can see

trees covering its surface, rocks that point

with jagged fingers to higher surfaces,

cliffs that reach out to the sky as if

to embrace it, welcoming the clouds home.

I know that I will have to climb this beast,

get to know each rockface and sharp edge

as well as I had known the forest.

I can hear the whisper of wind moving

through the branches of the trees

covering the mountain and the birds within.

High above me, I can hear the growl of beasts

and the stomp of hooves. All those sounds

mixed with music of my breathing and my heart

make some kind of wicked symphony.

I take one step and reach my hand up to grasp the rock,

feeling a sharp sting and the wetness of blood.

I take a deep breath, that sound adding to the music of my body

and I begin to climb.