Dark Forest Of The Soul
by Debi Swim
It smells like fear
acrid, sharp, razor sharp
after the safety of knowing,
not questioning, having faith.
I don’t like this part of the woods
I’m finding myself in. It’s lonely
here. Quiet. Every snap of a twig
sounds like a gunshot. I flinch.
It smells like disease. Unhealthy,
musty, rank cheese, beginnings
of rot. Yet, if truth is true then
perhaps this isn’t the end though
it must seem that way to a tadpole,
a caterpillar, polyps. Metamorphosis.
Not death. Development. Growth.
Transformation. Transmutation. Change.
It smells like petrichor. Rain after a long
dry spell. Refreshing. Healing. A tinge of
newness, beginnings, hope, something
more than before. Deeper than. A quenching.
I can’t go back. I’m too far in. I’ll follow
this path to its end. I’ll trust that this path
brings me to the light and I’ll blink my eyes
at its glory after the darkness of the forest. Amen.
Note: Written in response to Red Wolf Poems, Prompt 281.
Debi Swim is a wife, mother, grandmother and persistent WV poet.