Music to accompany this poem
Creature of the woods, Creature of the wilds, Creature of the winds… Never of this city. Blinding lights, Deafening voices, Intoxicating fumes. I crawl back to my Hovel Cabin Tower. Nestled in the trees. Aspens. Oaks. Maples. Why must I leave my peace? Why must I? You must, You shall, You will, my child. They call, They always call… Through the highways, Through the valleys, Through the seas, They wake me up at night. Child, You must come. Child, You must run. Child, You must return. And I look the other way. Shivering, Trembling, Twitching, There will be no rest, Until I answer This call This beseech This summon. Too young, Too soon, Too fragile. I cannot. But my heart never rests. And my face becomes finer. And my eyes become deeper. And my hair becomes lighter. Time cannot ever be hindered. Am I standing still, am I moving? Dancing Twirling Balancing Between two world. Between two direction. Between two paths. How high is the tightrope! How high is the horizon! How high is the summit! The river runs in the glen. The daisies grow in the hollow. The children play in the dale. But I belong far away from Their gushing. Their dancing. Their singing. I wish I could climb down to them. I wish I could run to them. I wish I could stay with them. Find smooth pebbles in the river. Make luscious flower crowns, Hold their small hands in mine. I look at them. I wave at them. I call to them. They never notice me. There’s an invisible veil between us. Theres’s an invisible net between us. There’s an invisible barrier between us. Like the one that separates Living from the dead, Light from the shadows. Freshwater from saltwater. Invisible. Subtle. Unshakable. Yet, We must all flow. Yet, We must all fly. Yet, We must all feel…. The call beneath our ribs. The call beneath our heart. The call beneath our fingertips. Can you hear it too? Can you? Or am I a madwoman… Frenzied. Frantic. Free. Ever wandering. Ever solitary, Ever thirsty, Scattering behind me Petals of what could have been, Hums of what could perhaps be. Feathers of what could never be. Unless… And I look away from the vale, And I look to my own feet. And I look up to the sky. Unless… Do you ever hear echoes of prayers, Do you ever hear tatters of laments, Do you ever hear hopeful hymns, Up there in the lonely mountains? Voices of those Who journey. Voices of those, Who leave. Voices of those, Who must return. To the Unknowable. To the Unseeable. To the Ungraspable. To the ever Familiar. To the ever Compassionate. To the ever Loving. And the voices… Of those who sing in your blood. Of those who whisper in your dreams. Of those who are heard in your own words. To a distant land. To an ancient time. To another idiom. You can almost see it… The scorching desert. The freezing summits. The haunting ruins. Towers embroidered of Gold Turquoise And blue. You can feel them under your fingertips. You can feel them against your palms. You can feel them against your cheek. Like a scent that never leaves you… Musk Frankincense And roses. And the chants, And the oud And the sitar. Like a melody that lulls you In, Out, and In, Of a sleep carved with dreams. A maddening labyrinthe Curls, Leaps and fire out. Burning, Like a memory. Burning, Like a desire. Burning, Like a thirst. Something you cannot have imagined. Something you cannot translate in words. Something you cannot explain with reason. So you lie awake. Wordlessly, Hopelessly, Mindlessly, Listening. Even in this peaceful forest, Even in this gentle country lane, Even in this blissful night, Every breeze that breathes, Every twig that creaks, Every bird that leaps, Echo those voices…. Calling you, Beseeching you, Summoning you, To the journey.






For me…. 

