Poetry: Dark Woods

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Bathed in silver, the sun played memories

Of light to guide me through the dark woods

Where I found an unfamilar path

That I somehow remembered from a dream.

At the end of a path stood a stone house,

Bright and pulsing with warm intelligence,

Curiosity, laughter and red wine.

We talked for hours before I wound my way

Back the now familiar path to bed.

The next day, morning shook me with alarm,

And through the fog I found another place,

Unfamilar and strange, with cold walls

Dark and dreary with boredom, with people

Whose shriveled souls ached for the deep, dark woods.

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