Beaches of Beeches by Aidyn Smith

I walked Frost's road, diverged in yellow wood;

The one less traveled by, with difference made.

Along that road I found the beeches hence.

The beeches killed the road and rose and fell:

Ominous splendor of Earthly tendrils;

Like the the fingers of some forgotten god

Reaching for where he may again find peace.

The ground is glistening with Fall's fallen,

Angel's slain in their god's war for the sky.

I could not help but feel a pious might.

In this place, I was unwelcome, foreign.

I did not belong in this holy place,

Nor did I wish to leave, though I knew how.

A heard a bluebird and felt a slight breeze,

One that felt like cold steel and smelled of grapes.

But as I looked about, I saw no shore.

No beaches of golden sand or tide pools.

I saw a harsh land of harsh men empty.

I saw those grasping digits, reaching up.

I felt his struggle, his endless sadness.

He wished to be home and I understood.

I wished to help this sad, grasping beast.

I was alone, so I needed a hand.

I turned and felt the emptiness ahead,

Because I saw no road. I was alone.

It was just me and the god in the dark.