Poem #4: Transcribing Scribbles

He runs into the woods.
Hoping that sadness can be sweat out
like a Toxin.
Dreaming that under the green canopy,
the weight of the world
cannot discern a human shoulder.

Praying to find something
that's never there, could not be there.
He wishes to get lost
Among the Silent, sulking giants
That watch and never speak.
Strong yet Passive:
They don't pray, they don't sleep, they don't hope.
Slow down and feel their roots.
A network underground
Grown with Time and Patience.

Spontaneously go inside the tree and walk a mile in shoes that never move.
Lips curl up into a grin like a seed sprouting unconsciously, and I walk out of the woods.