A Forest Called Madness

by Sean Michael, August 2012

This forlorn place, I know I cannot escape, exists in my mind,
and every beast I meet with ambivalence.
They all pray for my death!
and upon the attrition of my sanity they feast.

I’m drawn into the forest with odoriferous pines, weeping willows, durable oaks and phantom yielding elms;
Forth into a tenebrous realm.
The trees sway without the urging of a breeze,
Leaves tittering, their branches reach through the muggy
air and tear my sleeve,
trying to pull me beneath the ground and lace my body
within their roots.

The two-headed wolfhound skulks through the darkness in restless mien.
His envenomed howl resounds and prophesies the end;
the whimper of his other half confirms it.

Slithering with cunning insistence, the serpent,
forever cursed to its belly in dust.
The winding movements of its body,
the scenting flick of its tongue,
eyes of crimson lust.

The horned owl hoots its song of sorrow
Lyrics promising no tomorrow.

The darkly luminescent raven sits perched on a gnarled branch,
its powerful talons carving the indelible mark of his rage.

Each will partake in the slow demise of my love and sanity.
They lie in wait.
They never sleep.
In the forest called madness,
A place of broken hearts where darkened souls play.

Posted at  dVerse Poets, Open Link Night #123