The Tree of Life

There is no more forlorn a poem than a tree      
So deep is the shunted skin      
And it bares every word written      
And the tree swung the driftwood in dreams      
To the pins and needles, there is the pitch that screams!      
But it’s a playful child that only wonders      
How high and how keen      
Was the darlings’ wrong?      
Swing us! The ghost in the graveyard!      
Only that has seen something inside,      
And wonders the ample of a song      
There is but one poem, much too long for the night      
As a field of silken grass settles the swells of my feet      
Running the peace of mind that listens with eyes of a star looking down      
Winked my heartened soul as the star it kisses my cheek with a dream      
But there is just one poem, much too long for the night      
Swing us, the ghost in the graveyard.      
       
The Tree of Life      
       
       
Ghost in the Graveyard was a favorite childhood game      
One of a hide and seek nature      
But then so was, Swinging Statues      
Someone would hold my hands and begin swinging      
       
Centripetal Force      
       
Raising my body to parallel the ground underneath,      
And then letting go      
Landing frozen on the grass as a statue      
It was the most fun in my life; those nights      
All the children in the neighborhood would play      
     
Until we were made to come inside      
Much too soon for any.