What lies beyond these mountains
rests within me, deep and low
an unspoiled valley
where mythical creatures
with unearthly motives
lead late travelers to their destiny.
This world within me
where red deer graze
in oak leaf-filtered evening light.
Their noses steaming, the fur
on their flanks moist, their hooves scraping
over humus, moss, and childhood dreams.
The sound of a crackling twig
turns their muscles into granite.
In these deciduous forests, old pains resurrect
like fairy rings as the days get shorter.
The pine forests are even older.
It’s where the dead like to dwell, their footsteps muffled
by a carpet of needles.
I feed them memories that linger
between dead straight trunks, cold and silent.
Unwillingly, I keep them alive.
(c) Leen Raats
This poem was published by Writenow, a lit mag from Nigeria
Leen writes 
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