Myriad emotions begin to come out of the woodwork,
But tears are hard to come by.
If only I could cry, I'd be at peace, I say to myself.
It's dry season in these parts, comes the reply.
My head swims in and out of a mirage,
And my soul sinks into a boundless depth,
Truth hurts and is often bitter,
And the pain is for real, says the voice.
Take a walk into the woodland, the voice tells me.
I can't make any sense of this, I reply.
I'm alone, and I'm new here, and I may get lost, I fear.
How would you know if you haven't tried, I hear.
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