Between the Trees

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My reflection in the train window

settles

between the trees

lining the field of gold

beyond the glass.

The wind is whistling

and drowning

the thousand anxious angry voices

shouting between my eyes and ears

between the trees

lining the field of gold

beyond the glass.

My toes are just within

the shade, on the edge,

gilded corn flexes its brittle fingers

coaxing me into the setting sun,

into yellow splendour,

away from this dim dense wood

in which I’m bound,

between the trees

lining the field of gold

beyond the glass;

touching life and yearning

for freedom.

 


This is a revamp of a piece I wrote mid 2015 – Between the Trees.

Kristiana Reed day dreams, people watches in coffee shops, teaches English and writes. She is a curator on Blood into Ink, a collective member of The Whisper and the Roar & Sudden Denouement, and blogs at My Screaming Twenties. She is 24 and is enjoying the journey which is finding her voice.

16 thoughts on “Between the Trees

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