The Written Word

Into The Forest, Golden Green, Crystal Black
by Conrad Miles

2-9-00

Into the forest, golden green, crystal black.
Not a sight to feast, not a sound to dance.
Into the forest, nonetheless I am, today,
with not a tree to tang, nor a sound to catch.

Bewildered we may be, this Is the way It is,
seamless In life, detached from reality
In a world by Itself, off In another realm,
of might and magic, courage and honor.

Treasures to wield, history to unfold,
mystery to be learned, lies to protect,
people to unfold, a world to live,
life to turn, and a page to be filled.

An Instrument used, fancied by few
love beyond all else by me, me only.
Creations dance, like fairies at play,
In a garden In my closet, nearby.

And still the trees grow, flowers bloom,
the wind blows, the sun sets, the stars guide.
And still I watch the stone walls stand,
the men and women live, watch them grow.

Into the forest, golden green, crystal black.
Not a sight to feast, not a sound to dance.
Into the forest, nonetheless I am, today,
with not a tree to tang, nor a sound to catch.

© 2000 Conrad Miles