Whispers in the Wood

I search in the forest's silent embrace,
the clock persistently ticking its pace.
I rise and lie down, a recurring trace,
and once more, I'll depart, leaving no trace.

You, sorrow, when will you set me free?
An unpleasant scribble, empty decree.
You aim to cut, but will the scent decree?
Pins in rows, like a web, a secret plea.

Yet your time is waning, strength on the rise,
What fate bestowed, I faced with no guise.
I took it in hand, through the lows and highs,
and triumphed over it, with hopeful eyes.