Forest Storm
by Amos Keppler

    I rest on my back
    On the dry forest bed
    During yet another storm
    I look up
    As the wind
    Catches the treetops
    making them paint
    Patterns in the sky

    I walk among the trees
    I hear them cringe and squeak
    I hear them cry out
    In the Storm

    I rest on my belly
    On the wet forest bed
    During the stormy rain
    I look down
    As the water
    Catches the soft soil
    Painting beautiful images
    On the ground

    I crawl among the trees
    Bathing in their blood
    I feel them growing
    In the rain

    There is a ghost
    Of an echo
    In the depth of the forest
    In the stinking moors
    In the moist space
    Between the trees

    I run through the forest
    In pitch darkness
    Stepping in-between
    The dry twigs
    On the ground
    The dry twigs
    Crying a warning
    To my rapidly moving feet

    In a recess
    Somewhere in shadow
    There is no sound
    But the whispering trees
    I go there
    And I hear the silence
    Of the raging Storm
    I rush towards the open spot
    In the forest
    Never forgetting
    The quiet darkness
    In the shadows

'Forest Storm' by Amos Keppler

February 2005
(western christian time-frame)