Opened doors to a paralysed forest
Lays a woman with vines on her vitals.
Sleeping alone where trees are the tallest
Away from sons who live in denial.
The stream runs through her veins and bloats her skin,
Toadstools dance and they enhance her slumber.
Looking to the sky and listening
She doesn’t see the people among her.
The sun blinds in flashes, for a moment
The forest draws back like a curtain.
Trees replaced by machines, by beds frozen -
A place she knows she should be, she’s certain.
A sleeping beauty, a mother, a wife…
Wake from your slumber, come back in our lives.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Dean Harries.
Published on e-Stories.org on 05/24/2011.