Man of The Woods

I set upon the earth my sight.

Curious to its horizon, eager to its peaks.

I watched a sunset from far away,

but it was snatched from me by the sounds

of a crying man.

 

A man built like boulders, shoulders wide.

His chest forged from steel and stone.

His hands were the width of small tree trunks.

His charm is as tall as the sky.

 

He was a holy man, dressed in robes,

raised sternly like any disciple.

He did not look tall now, nor his shoulders strength.

He only wept.

His hands rose to his face – cupped like prayers.

 

He knelt within an ever-listening forest,

yet no matter its patience, it would never know what tore him.

The monk seemed in need of an open sky.

A soft     angelic      embrace.

 

As I neared,

quiet as the second mouse,

the one no one ever remembers,

He raised his face from his hands.

Lifted his drenched palms towards the greying sky,

and there,

I saw a man in all his bold glory asking for grace.


Eliezer is a senior studying psychology at Eastern University. He considers himself a collector of stories and a lover of words. He aims to make images and sounds dance together sweetly.

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