Poem - The World Does Not Know of this Place

THE WORLD DOES NOT KNOW OF THIS PLACE

A naked pool of tears
in this garden of woodland sorrows,
a glimmer of light through a rolling fog.
Fir trees hang low, will protect you,
your childhood hurts, like shiny pebbles
under cool, rippling water.
You can cry here, like the sad, yellowed leaves,
float tenderly, alone, rest quietly,
before swept madly to the foggy sea.
The world does not know of this place
the sparkle and soothe of brook,
the patter and float of leaf.
The world does not know of this place
where my skin can flash naked against the sand,
a vale of brief moments and endless tears.

Robert Feuer