I was not supposed to be there,
that place in the woods.
I went anyway,
reasoning that one
who walked softly
could not be a trespasser.
The path leading in could
easily be missed,
a barely seen comma
in a nearly unbroken green sentence.
The cool and dappled quiet
soothed my troubled teen soul,
and I followed the barely-there path
as it wound its meandering way
round a small pond’s edge.
The stiff, sharp spines of surrounding
reeds protected pristine water
lilies from my reaching hands
until I found a small break in the reeds
and waded my way into the shallows.
I stripped away my outer layers
until I lay naked in the sun,
a yearning Ophelia, unable to complete
my wish for oblivion deeper than sleep,
instead allowing a silence
that was not silent
to fill and heal
an aching teen’s troubled soul.
2 thoughts on “Hour Five, Place of meaning”
I like the subtle suicide image. The picture of the place is lovely and intimate.
Thanks, love. I didn’t want to be too blatant, but I’m glad the reference still came through. Tough time of life, for sure.