Inda Wilds: An Inked Parable + Rhyme

Thanks to

Thomas Cargen

for posting this gorgeous and intriguing illustration that inspired my rhymed parable below.

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But first, a fun tidbit….

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Rhyme came before writing. So did parables. So did verse. They were our original memory devices and how we passed down meaning before we could jot it down. When writing showed up, it didn’t replace them. It just helped them stick around. These forms carried truth, values, warnings in ways we’d actually remember. Rhyme is embedded into our bones. Not everything old is useless. Save the babies from the bathwater!

Inda Wilds

I walked in deep, without a sound,
the vines they swirled, and looped, and bound.
I couldn’t see past arms-length glare,
beneath me buried, burned, laid bare.
I moved through light, shadow, and shade,
a shape began to form—no name.
Afraid of what might speak aloud,
I shut my ears, refused the sound.
Quiet I walked, so not to break,
a branch beneath my feet give way.
The air was thick, a humming plight,
I treaded on, no sound to fight.
My eyes caught orbs, and bouts of light,
too far to grasp, beyond clear sight.
Through knotted wood and strangled vine,
the light felt like a fate, or sign.
I walked straight through, with no sight back,
and stepped into a world of black.
Despite the light that guided in,
I had to know that dark within.
And when I did, I felt at home,
in my forest, all alone.

© 2025 DISTILLIST

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