A Child Still Trembles

A man within the wood becomes a child
With brutal bruises on his broken soul
In frenzied foment running wretched wild
Until full fragmentation of his whole.

Each stuttered step brings terror deep within
But takes him to the center of the wood
Where trees become embodiment of sin
And speak in timbered tones not understood.

The purpose of the pace he chose to take
Is vague in all its vast complexity
But clarity of memories now make
Him face a frightened child's reality;

A worn and wasted shadow-land unknown
Where there a child still trembles all alone.