The Cabin

Poetry from a Dream

I am lost in a forest,
More curious than scared.
Warm rays of sunlight filter through the canopy of pines.
The trees stand tall, straight and dignified.
They beckon:
Come, stand tall and still with us.

But, I am not still, nor tall like them.
I keep moving,
slightly stooped as I have become.

A cabin appears.
A clearing in the forest.
Tendrils of blue-grey smoke.
The pines sway gently from the wafting warm air,
As it billows upward.

The cabin is small.
A workman’s cottage more like.
No room for comfort.
Just toil and more toil.

I peer through the window,
Wiping away decades of grime.
A single room.
A loom of bare wood,
Filling the interior.

Then a commotion.
A great roar from within,
A tiger fighting to the death,
With an anaconda.
The great loom clacks to life.
Snake skin stretching,
Across its beam.

The tiger thrashes,
Weaving textiles into patterns
of unimaginable beauty.
Life transforming into art.

From passion
From fury
From flesh
From blood
From disregard
I create,
I thirst,
I create,
I thirst,
I create.

© Gavin J. Chalcraft