War and Thoughts

Listen to the wind wraith,
curled branches wrought and beating
Listen to it howl its gnarly seance.
Bring forth the forest brutes.

If this were a war, I’d be no contest,
my mind has already been won.
Wicked seedlings planted in hungry soil,
and they’re growing too fast to succumb.

My mind is a forest and I am the leaves,
sunlight breaks only on the surface.
The forest brutes wander beneath
snuffling for a thought in the black foliage.