A weary, wintry walk through
These bare and fruitless trees
Reveals that something lingers
On the harsh and biting breeze
The senses can’t describe it
Though the gut, it knows it well
It offers no description
No sight, no taste, no smell
Bony, twisty fingers reach up
To heaven’s rotting gate
Best to step lightly here, friend
Or meet a wicked fate
A quick, cursory glance behind
Reveals only more empty path
All it offers is loneliness
If one does the math
But the heart, the gut, the soul
Feel the peering of a hundred eyes
The empty space between the branches
Promising only hopeful lies
Best quicken your step, friend
And find a safer space
Let soft imprint of boots on wet,
Dead leaves be your only trace
And whence you find yourself
Wrapped in home’s welcoming song
You yet feel somehow
That something still feels wrong
With this final revelation you can see
--It never felt so strong--
The malice you felt, and from which
You ran--was inside you all along.
Charlie Lowrey 