The Hidden Forest

On the darkest of nights, I see myself curled up on the floor,

I cry and I plead, “I cannot take it anymore.”

Isolated among some dench and darkened trees,

Grief could forever keep me among the leaves.

The thought of staying enters my mind,

Here I can be left to rot amongst the vine,

But my body wants me to be free,

To vanquish the howling banshee.

I begin to pull myself up from the ground,

Telling myself I will come around,

Focusing on every tiny step I take,

On every fall and every break.

To find some way out of the tangled oak,

Life seems like some horrible cosmic joke,

Wondering if I will ever again see the sky,

Or will I just stay here to wither and die?

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