Dilemma

I walked through a forest of orderly trees
Patiently waiting their turn to be felled
(Not the sound  of a bird could be heard on the breeze)
Coppiced and gated, for timber all fated,
They spoke to each other as I passed them by
‘Patience – your life will begin when you die.’

Then, through a gap in the trees I espied
A forest as lively as this one was grim
As this one was dim, it was airy and light
With leaves green and glowing, all moving and growing
And so, hardly slowing, I entered right in
And sweet music played in that warm forest glade
Where there in a bowl of rock crystal made
A fountain was dancing, with waters so clear
And sparkling, that heedless, I ran to be near
And bent my head down to its crystalline rim
Touched my lips to its edges in bubbles all clad
Quenched a thirst that I’d not even known that I’d had.

But, as I swallowed that first vital draught
My eyes widened in shock, for below me I saw
Under that surface, all shining and bright
Were rocks sharp and vicious, with edges like knives
Jagged and leering, they called from beneath
Yes – play with our waters – be torn by our teeth.

I wrenched myself back from that fountain of light
Retraced with slow steps those I’d joyfully run
Turned back down the path along which I had come
And each step that carried me further away
From the waters I still could hear dancing at play
Was breaking my heart, but it had to be done.
And then, on that path (I thought, all alone)
I stumbled and fell, perhaps over some stone
Reached out in the darkness, to find that a hand
Was there to grasp mine and to help me to stand
And my heart felt much lighter now that I knew
I was walking that path, not alone, but with you.

Hand in hand in the darkness, and where should we go?
Back into the forest where solemn trees grow?
While still my heart longs for those waters so bright
I don’t want to go back into the night
I wish we could still snatch our joy from the teeth
That menace and threaten so bleakly beneath
Am I deceiving myself, and you, too?
Or to forest and fountain both, can we be true?

Cathy

Copyright © 2006 Cathy Smith