THE TIMBERS OF RESONANT PHANTASMS

Strolling the magnificence of timbered virtues
searching for the pure, rapturous succulence of a precious quiet
suddenly I feel an irrevocable stabbing
deep inside and burning to the marrow
by a thorn of numinous elegance and intensity.

From the cerebral chasms of collective ancestral memory
I hear the haunting wails and pain soaked echoes
arising from the Earth's suffering guardian nymphs
crying out with a plaintive and poignant chorus of conscience
about how too many uncaring hands
so often carelessly deflower the fragile blossoms of rustic array
with their obsession for transforming
a living entity of pastoral eloquence
into a cold and lifeless concrete citadel.

It is a gnawing dissonance of the soul
resounding in the midst of birdsong and cricket monologues
shouting by shear presence of every towering and stately wooden finger
pointing solemnly towards that gut wrenching reminder
that there is more to being
than the self-absorbed sound of one's own heartbeat.

A bone-chilling wind arrives to roar through the branches
wrapping itself around my thoughts,
but it can't bring an icy hush
unto nature's disquieting serenade
over man's violation of its innocence.