by Marc Prudhon
Fleeing memory, he walks the woods, the silent mountains,
Behind him, a city of glass and steel, man made fountains.
Tho not bold, the deep shadow of the forest holds no fright,
He wishes only that enfolding peace, found within the night.
Fearing to sleep, for sleep may bring that dream,
Awakened, heart pounding, trying not to scream.
He could not save her, he could but sit at her bedside.
Watching, helpless to halt the ebb of her life's tide.
He walks on, hearing and feeling the night sounds;
Deep and dark, never quiet, in the forest, life abounds.
He desires that darkness, moonless times, dark as jet
So leaves the house at the fiery kiss of each sunset.
Coming upon a clearing in the woods, a meadow he did not seek,
Arriving just as the morning dawn enflames the mountain peak.
Old blackened stumps tell a tale, how the meadow was born.
Grass and beautiful flowers, doth now the clearing adorn.
Looking across the clearing, a way to end this rift
The meadow has no other side, he sees there, a cliff.
He stands at the edge, the clearing behind him like a park,
Facing the dawns first rays, below him night, deep and dark.
Gazing down that fearful height, he hears night's siren call.
Just one small step, then an end-- an end to dreams and all.
He steels himself to take that step, and thinks, None will care.
Suddenly he feels a warmth upon his hand, a breath light as air.
He turns, he looks, and there in the light of dawn,
Gazing trustingly into his eyes, a tiny dappled fawn.
He steps back, takes one hand, wipes at the blood on its side.
Not the fawn's, somewhere in the night, a mother doe has died.
He picks up the fawn, it relaxes in his arms in total trust
Says "Let's get you fed, little one. Our life's in front of us."
As each of us travels life, from birth until deaths door.
We simply want to be needed, just that, nothing more.