Hear the whispers,
Hear the taunts,
Hear the branches,
Hear the screams.
Let them brush upon your skin,
As they bellow out in pain,
The cuts they've received.
The branches that fell.
Hear them speak,
Hear them beg.
Here you are,
Lost in the deep, green forest.
Hear that something from far off it as seems,
Seems deep and a secret to all,
Concealed by the earth.
A shout muffled by huge autumns,
By the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Are you lost in the forest?
Did you break off a dark twig?
Lift its deadly whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
The twinkling drops?
The birds beaks pecking, perhaps?
A cracked bell ringing?
Or a torn heart?
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-spring,
Let the whispers caress my face,
And dance upon around me.
Let them sing their stories,
Its drifting fragrance,
Of the deep dark forest,
swirls around and tickles me.
The whispers climbed up through my conscious mind.
As if suddenly the roots I had left behind,
Cried out to me,
This is the land,
The home of many.
Why cut it down?
Why hurt the animals?
Make them frown?
This is the land whom I've grown up in,
The land I lost my childhood with.
A land perhaps, you too will lose all your memories too,
As you hear their cries,
And pains, when they are gone.
All of that is left of them
Is the wounded, wandering scent.
And the dark whispers of the forest.