Like a drug; I’m compelled.
An index finger points the way.
The path covered in vagueness.
Only trust leads my day.

~

The forest is my storybook.
Few paths I’ve known.
Some are smooth and uneventful.
Some are treacherously bare.

~

Once a lesson completes.
And a short respite occurs.
The forest fairies find me.
And, another adventure is assured.

~

My feet are weary from twists and stones.
Tripping along the way.
But nonetheless, the spirits find me.
And again, I’ve nothing to say,

~

Excuses are lame.
Whining creates more.
So, quietly I proceed.
Wandering, the magic roads of lore.

Passing through the brush,
Carrying my satchel of prayers.
Perhaps I’ll pass a man.
A man who relinquishes terrors.

~

And I’ll look for him in the forest.
There, pray he shall find me.
Illuminate, our eyes will sparkle.
Then, my spirt shall be set free.

Bonnie Jennings
July 2013