Deep in the lonely forest,

thoughts swirl and howl like the wind,

echoes of the words the people say.

They swarm like sunshine to warm my path,

then, without a warning,

gather like storm clouds to strike it dead.

Is wisdom a whim-full, wandering wind, 

that anyone may read from the sky 

with the authority of God?

Why should I chase any fallen leaf

they choose

on its final jaunt through the trees?

If I chain myself to these,

they will drag me over rocks and hills

to the graves, 

and I will die a slave.