The Coming

The Sun scattered through the gaping woods -
Light screaming into space.
He sat, on bark, on shredded ground.
On time, such peace upon his face.

The air so silent -
the symphony of nature.
The wading leaves,
The falling breeze,
On hope he fell
upon his knees.
His eyes closed,
his soul free.

There’s something coming,
of that he knew.
But that could wait,
or hunt, or seek.

Alone, as life intended
so -
He grasped his life -
Then let it go.

Written By Shane Ferguson
On The 21st January 2010