deepundergroundpoetry.com
Resolution
Your strength is flailing, I know. Your sadness,
thick-rooted into every cold corner of the forest,
contained by heaven and hell, loosely scattered
by beasts and fowl, guarded by barbed thickets
you think love cannot penetrate, grows.
I sense you snapping from melancholy weight
in the distant wood, a mother tree giving up
the ghost through underground conduits for a
sapling to nurse the legacy of joy entombed
within the experienced rings of your years.
You have carried life for decades; nests, burrows,
camouflaged leaves against the onslaught of prey,
lovers propped against the hardness of your trunk,
carving a time stamp of promises impossible be kept
past that very moment: "[Someone] 'loves' [Someone]
forever..." not because that was a moment ago. Listen
closely, you were not meant to swallow dirt. You will
crumble after the crash, become a dwelling for insects,
bench for hikers catching their breath,a failing fortress
against a stampede of leaves that will disintegrate the
dam of your lichen trunk until beaten into a soft pulp
gathered by bears and bats for their hibernating caves.
And, this is important so hear me please: All that will
be left of you will be a tiny sapling gasping for breath
while somehow remembering in its birth (before maturity
forgets): A whirlwind of angry bees and scraped blood of
lovers against the trees, the acrid breath of Summer, water's
warm visits, the rustle of tangled limbs from a squirrel's
jump, and... a frozen Winter it failed to overcome, but was
destined to face again (and again) until it could.
Not as punishment, but as choice.
~
thick-rooted into every cold corner of the forest,
contained by heaven and hell, loosely scattered
by beasts and fowl, guarded by barbed thickets
you think love cannot penetrate, grows.
I sense you snapping from melancholy weight
in the distant wood, a mother tree giving up
the ghost through underground conduits for a
sapling to nurse the legacy of joy entombed
within the experienced rings of your years.
You have carried life for decades; nests, burrows,
camouflaged leaves against the onslaught of prey,
lovers propped against the hardness of your trunk,
carving a time stamp of promises impossible be kept
past that very moment: "[Someone] 'loves' [Someone]
forever..." not because that was a moment ago. Listen
closely, you were not meant to swallow dirt. You will
crumble after the crash, become a dwelling for insects,
bench for hikers catching their breath,a failing fortress
against a stampede of leaves that will disintegrate the
dam of your lichen trunk until beaten into a soft pulp
gathered by bears and bats for their hibernating caves.
And, this is important so hear me please: All that will
be left of you will be a tiny sapling gasping for breath
while somehow remembering in its birth (before maturity
forgets): A whirlwind of angry bees and scraped blood of
lovers against the trees, the acrid breath of Summer, water's
warm visits, the rustle of tangled limbs from a squirrel's
jump, and... a frozen Winter it failed to overcome, but was
destined to face again (and again) until it could.
Not as punishment, but as choice.
~
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