The Jungle

Somehow, it has crept in,
growing slowly over years,
silently, or perhaps not so silently,
a stealthy wall that surrounds,
chokes out the light,
fills your world with dark,
silences life’s music with a deadly rustle.

always posing as beauty,
a terrifying love,
as protection that is anything but,
while somewhere
the sun rises.
Birds sing spring songs,
and there are horizons

hungry to be seen.

The jungle
feeds on your silence,
thrives on it,
until, oh yes, until
you choose to stand, and scream
the one word the jungle fears: “No!”.

And at that, the stifling green trembles,
knowing what it has always known –
that it’s days are numbered,
bound to end
in a blaze
of cleansing fire.

About this poem.

Too often, we hide in silence, thinking it safe. It is not safe. In the end, it will choke our souls and rob our lives of life.

The picture was taken in a secret forest in Richmond, Va. My son knows where. When I took this picture, he said “That will be a poem some day.” He was right. James, this one is for you.

Tom