One Poem by Andrew Robertson

 

From the hazy fog, during the worst of the storm, an apparition formed into the shape of a man. He floated nearby to where I was cowering under the bed. The man smiled at me, angelic and peaceful. 

He said he was from another realm, a higher plane of existence, previously linked to Earth. He apologized for the difficulty in conveying the language of gods to lower beings. The man spoke of his past connection to this realm, and his reasons for leaving and not manifesting again more fully until now. 

He said that conditions are no longer suitable on earth for the pastimes of gods and goddesses, and that such things linger in the minds of people only as myths and fables. 

He spoke a poem to me in the language of men. He called his poem The Material Forest. I still recall it quite clearly, almost like magic.

  

 

The Material Forest 

 

Turning blind, I lost my mind, and to the forest path I came 

Enter here a sign said clear and find yourself some name and fame 

Without recourse I entered forth into that darkened atmosphere 

Then lost my way, and went astray, too gone to ever reappear  

Wherever I wandered, I found a use for my ability  

The forest so large seemed to divulge a livelihood for eternity 

I could satisfy myself in so many sensually pleasing delightful ways 

The forest gave, I took it all, enjoyment both by night and day  

With planning and protection, the plunderers are kept at bay 

And the eyes and ears and nose and tongue and skin all have their way 

After all who can deny the joy the senses seem to bring 

If I took a little for myself I could do almost anything 

But after countless lives so long I saw that next to right is wrong 

And what had seemed eternal bliss became austerity on and on 

I felt disturbance all around, fearsome tigers and snarling jackals 

Then I saw, it was no more than my family tying me in shackles 

The forest seemed so opulent, material desires all inviting 

But as I stopped to play and turned away, around me coiled creepers

tightening

I called out for a friend, but in the end, only attracted envious snakes 

A friend in need, a friend unwanted, the forest means you give I take 

Then came rats and beasts and vultures, taking all of my possessions 

For those who sin money runs thin, and I entered into a grave depression 

All this aside, I still tried to maintain my body and expand my home 

For there are many poorer and phantasmagoria tells me I am not alone 

I was young and would persist, the search for wealth I could not resist 

The colour gold is tangible, though some would say will-o-the-wisp 

A wife standing by the side, like a whirlwind she can’t be denied 

A change of fashion, or blinding passion, prejudice allured by pride 

I thought I had good friends, devoid of prestige and pretence 

But when my back was turned, they yearned to stab it in my absence 

The trees, they seemed to represent a piece of mother nature’s purity 

But now I see, the majority, are harsh, devoid of piety 

I built a cottage by the river, all sorts of opulence it did provide 

But as time went by, I took too much, caused a drought and the river died 

In the material forest wherever I went the people formed a government 

While ravenous demons feast on flesh, and to the highest posts ascend 

I had thought to frolic in the woods and lounge about on royal lawns 

But there were so many unseen obstacles pricking me like thorns 

I had chosen a wife so young and nice who seemed to be a benediction 

Then I saw as flies, a thousand eyes, cursing, causing such restriction 

I looked toward the crows and herons to try learning some relaxation 

But they were insignificant pretenders, nature’s bogus incarnations 

The monkeys seemed to live a life free from prestige and pretending 

But like untouchables, only eating, sleeping, mating and defending 

My time was spent in such torment, but my taste for life was not all spent 

Till a fated day death came my way, I was crushed beneath an elephant 

It is a sad story, but I must insist, the material forest does exist 

And while here the message is clear, diversions form an endless list 

 

The storm was receding, and the phantom turned to leave, floating above the floor. He looked once more toward me, compassion in his eyes, and spoke another verse before disappearing.

 

To realize at long life’s last, the illusion needs to be uncovered 

Then rise, way up from slumber, until the soul becomes discovered 

After countless cycles of rebirths, no longer do you need to roam 

In the forest there is a narrow path that leads you to your real home 

  

 

 

Andrew Robertson has around 350,000 words published yearly for world-leading organizations and news outlets, in print and online. None of the work is in his name. Once a page is published, it is gone and forgotten about. Andrew is a quiet positivist living in a loud world, with lots to laugh, cry, and sing about. Andrew likes to explore the super-conscious and find spaces in our world that we all share but aren’t necessarily aware of.