Window of the Woods

I see it there, the window of the woods
It does not beckon me, it does not demand of me
It reminds me what I am
It tells of my ancestors, what I was, what I always will be
I am the soul of this earth, and of my people
I may walk through it when I am ready
But cannot before I am

It makes me cry, for its beauty is my own
It sees in me what I do not
I cry because it is life, I feel not grief nor joy
I feel only truth, the branches of the trees
I tremble at its nature, and wish to be held by it
It is silent, still, and stoic
I am nothing, but connected to it more than anything else
I feel the ages of the earth within me

My purpose, it gave me
I see my life, my loyalty to it
I did not know what it was, but it is my duty
My god I serve
It moves without me, I tremble
I doubt myself, if I have the strength to follow it
If I will sour in its power, or if I will become as pure
A force of nature, a servant of life
A balanced tool, to be wielded by what may be true goodness
Is that what lies there?
On the other side of the window of the woods

Is that what we have lost?

Is this what we lose when we serve only ourselves?

I cry because it reminds me, to be honest, to be true, to be a hand of its righteousness
I tremble at its love for me, it will always be there when I stumble
But if I fail, if I conceded to the darkness
It will cast me away

This is my nature, this is who I am
Both myself, and a piece of it
A piece of the earth, and of the window in the woods
I fear its power with in me But today or tomorrow, I will walk through I will return home