My Father's Forest

My Father’s Forest 

A forest of yesteryear 
Streams pure as baby’s breath flow through my father’s land 
Telling secrets to trees with stars chasing me through the night 
Everything was right 
Until the corporate kings came to swallow my father’s flowers. 

They had iron hounds 
Silver dragons that burned the clouds 
A brutish man smoking cheap cigars 
Yelling at women and children that will not move 
Their feet are melted into the dirt 
Chanting prayers. 

The corporate kings wanted to speak 
The elders gathered around 
Listening to squawking sheep 
My father grabbed his rusted sword and dipped it their oil he boiled 
Slashing away the evil within 
My father’s forest where I love to sleep 
Is safe for now. 

© 2017 Randle Allshouse Jr.