Inner Fire

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There is a woods not far from here

   of maple, elm, and oak,

and when my spirit’s feeling drear

   and human antics choke,

 

I like to wander through the trees

   on trails the creatures make

and listen to the playful breeze

   as leaves and branches shake.

 

I slowly feel the echoes fade

   of life’s relentless din,

the wretched drone of life’s parade

   that keeps us hammered in.

 

And in its place I seem to find

   a rhythm more in tune

with nature’s old instinctive mind

   that thinks by sun and moon.

 

The sparrows dart from twig to twig,

   on nimble threads it seems,

as sunlight dances Irish jigs

   in hazy verdant beams.

 

The squirrels watch my wandering

   with cheeky black-eyed stares,

then tire of heavy pondering

   and bound away in pairs.

 

I sense that I am on the verge,

   and harmony is near,

when suddenly the forms emerge

   of shadow shifting deer.

 

They move like vapor through the trees,

   a cloud of agile force,

that glides with such a graceful ease

   on any chosen course.

 

It happens when I pay no mind

   to what I am or where,

that suddenly I seem to find

   a subtle inner layer,

 

a layer of life that stands behind

   the surface life we see,

where all that’s real is first designed

  and shaped to live and be.

 

Within this realm I see the things

   that myth and legend name,

from busy elves to fairy kings

   and sprites that dance like flame.

 

They each perform their special task

   of weaving out of light

that tapestry behind the mask

   that fills our sense of sight.

 

They seem to know that I am there,

   but pay me little heed,

continuing without a care

   at such amazing speed.

 

The rules that bind our world tight

   are nowhere there applied,

and yet it seems so strangely right

   to find the rules untied.

 

I try to pick a quiet place

   to sit and take it in,

to watch the elementals race

   and see the webs they spin.

 

From time to time a unicorn

   like magic will appear—

to bring an infant yet unborn

   to squirrel, bird, or deer.

 

And several times I’ve seen a sphere,

   all gold and glowing bright,

then felt a goddess drawing near

   from deeper layers of light.

 

Although I know such wonders are

   a constant in this place,

it is a treasure rare by far

   to feel their warm embrace.

 

These sweet enchantments fill me so

   and leave behind so much,

for days I bask in afterglow

   and linger in their touch.

 

I’m sure this realm exists behind

   our city streets as well,

but cities make it hard to find—

   too hard to break the spell.

 

For me a trail between the trees

   is all that I require,

the magic of a woodland breeze,

   that touch of inner fire!