Amongst darkened oaks, between snapped birch branch,
Lies a weary path downtrodden, worn and dyed by failed stanch.
Alone I tread silent, while darkest night overcomes clouded day.
Others disregard me. Like trees my faith is cleared away.
Listen to the twigs and leaves crunch and snap.
Continuing onwards, I hunger and yearn for a quick nap.
Listen now, Silence, to night’s symphony of wind.
Accompaniment arrives; howls join as thicket thinned
To left lies rapids; sounds of rushing stream dance
To frightful rights, growls lie hushed to entrance.
Kneeling of soil—richly living to contrast dying eyes—
I gaze up succumbing and smile to my surprise.
Oh, how seemingly far, such a beautiful forest star;
Shining with promise, asking to guide where the lost are.
With vigour, treading north with limbs scratched I ache.
Yet boldly I move on, for my trust in its light won’t quake.
I may see it fade; I may question if it’s there or real,
But as my guiding light, I thank its forgiving appeal.