The Forest Inside – A Poem
The trees have returned.
I can see them out of
the corner of my eyes,
their leaves waving
like fingers trying
to beckon me closer
so that they can wrap me
in a dark embrace.
I can feel my body
answering their shrill call,
a heaviness in my chest
that is filled with nothing but shadows.
I breathe deeply, trying
to find my centre,
trying to brush past
the well inside of
me that is filled with malaise
instead of the water and ink
that brings words.
There is no reason for the
dark forest to return,
but it is always there,
underneath my skin,
waiting to burst
forth from inside me.
A woman is walking towards me.
I almost don’t see her through
the thick branches.
She puts a hand on my arm and says:
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
I look at her and decide
that she’s genuine.
“I’m trying to get away. The trees are too strong.”
She gives me a kind smile.
“You carry a forest inside of you, don’t you?”
I nod grimly.
“You know, if you don’t let the bad stuff out, it’ll push itself out in the most bizarre ways.”
I thank her and move on.
The trees have grown thick around me,
the rustle of the branches,
the call of the wind
and its lullaby whisper
is almost too strong.
Something is struggling
to break free of my body.
I can feel it in my throat,
and I try to keep it down,
attempt to keep the shadows
inside of me. I’m kneeling
on the ground. I hear footsteps.
I look up to see the woman
that stopped me before.
“You have to let the bad stuff out. You can’t keep it inside. Go on now, let it out.”
I nod, tears in my eyes,
streaming down my cheeks.
I open my mouth wide
and a piece of shadow slips out of me,
resembling nothing but sludge.
Then, as we watch,
it begins to shape itself
into the shape of a Crow.
Its eyes regard me with
curiosity, unsure of me.
Its feathers shine like
obsidian and it ruffles its feathers.
“It’s beautiful.”
I whisper.
“Yes,” She says. “The darkness can be beautiful. But we mustn’t let it consume us.”
“So what do I do? How do I walk away from the forest?”
I realise that she is kneeling beside me,
as she is so close. There is a warmth
coming from her that fills my body.
“You have light inside of you. Use that to banish the dark. What else can the Crow be?”
I shake my head, unsure of what to say.
“You are a writer, are you not? Why not make some ink? Fill the well inside of you with ink instead of shadows.”
I blink at her and then nod.
I look at the Crow,
feel the pulse of its darkness
inside of me. I blink my eyes,
thinking of a pen, of something that
can hold ink and stories inside of it.
Wishing for something
to keep the shadows at bay,
to combat the lullaby of darkness.
When I open my eyes,
the Crow is gone. In its place
is a pen of black obsidian
and a black journal
waiting to be written in.
I look up to thank the woman
but there is no one there.
I stand as if I have just won
a battle, taking hold of the pen and journal
and I feel them pulse,
full of the stories
waiting to be written.
