The Woodlander`s Nightmare. A Fantasy.(First Version).

I used to love my work deep in the forests,
But now I hate it,
Vigilant packs lurking in dark places,
Red eyed, wolf like murderous hunters
Drunk on the spilled blood of their victims,
Any lost strangers who venture their way,-
Refugees stranded late at night,
Caught without friends, guards, selfless protectors,
Guides with maps and rudimentary torches,
The storm ripped trees crashing down around them,
Roots upended,
Branches shredded like ruptured veins.

I used to love my work deep in the forests,
But now the open spaces of the water meadows suit me,
Where I can walk at ease among wise children
Calm in their dreams of eternal kindness,
Fairy tale fantasies with no hob goblins
Their visions of Elysium,-
The cold lake lapping gently into tall reeds
Under the mauve shadows of the ancient Drumlins.

I used to love my work deep in the forests,
But now dark forces out of my control
Have cracked my feral heart into a thousand pieces.
My long term friends are changed to savage strangers,
Their gentle hands into great twisted knuckles,
Their kindly faces, masks of wounded hate.
But it seems I am the changeling, I am Heathcliff to them,
An undefined outsider,
Not counted one with them.
And because my long time lover is a Gypsy,
A girl with freedom etched deep in her soul,
They harass me with vows and two edged axes
To drive us both from out the woodland green.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 28th. - 29th. 2016. - April 16th. 2016.

I love the halfway land between dreaming and waking, this is where this poem comes from. But I am very much an outsider in England, I am British by default.