Alchemy, Poetry, Psychology, Writing

Woodlands

Men who guard the infinite softness of women that run into the wild solved the riddle of the world.

Their arms, branches, their feet roots, to a beating heart that knows no bounds, and no other way, but into the unknown.

And by being the tree, they become the fruit.

They are the home the wild yearns for.

But no one knows it until they do.

Some never will.

The fragility of the untamed flame eludes them.

And the wild in their own heart is left to wander, feral, in the dark.


© Milana Vujkov, Woodlands, June 2019

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s