Since Old Times

I hear the voices of the trees which crown
The mountains, resting upon the
Wooden cloak. the tired and numb...
Leaving the blood running
Through my veins, and feeling
The sound of thoughts
Flowing like the boulder's river.
The soul of forest shave me and trespass me
His wisdom and visions.
The path get's loss in the fanthomless
Darkness of the night, and left look it's rake to
Those eyes which beholds from
The high. inclement, marble astral domes.
I summon the spirits of forefathers to reach
The stars, the strenght of those
Who felt in the uproar of battle.