The way home

The dying light of the sun flickered through the forest of trees that blocked, in part, my progress made.

Soft the mossy floor of this timber cathedral arched and bowed as giant limb be told. The way to the light far off did haunt the vision on high the tired frame of man behold.

The path half sunk in mounds of upturned earth .The gentleman in the velvet coat beware the stumble .The sound of pain that thus do rise above the ceiling of this darkened place of witches and devils called woodland at night .Hark a twig breaks the silent under foot.

There was a path under lichen and bracken that has long since fallen into its spell and is no more a path to see the way home. Then once,long ago it was so used .I found its trace . The dead now its route and take me the rest of way .

Tant le desiree it echos in time to my footfall .I hear in the wind over and over so .My advance breaks the silence as I crash through the golden bracken and fall headlong onto my lawn. The curtain slides softly behind me . There was a path,they were right , that now belongs to ghosts .


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