...of passing dead trees and breathing in deep

 
into the hollows of the chest
 
oh the stories and scenes
and sights  
and seasons
 
they won't tell  
yet i know  
they know
 
it wasn't the wind
nor the waters  
that  
have taken away those stories
 
the marks where once was  
bark
now the bones  
with hollows  
and stones
 
i put my ear and all i hear
are the waves  
splashing onto memories
pictures which
i cannot decipher
 
no it wasn't the fault of the limb
that held the noose firm
'twas the man that had it tied
 
there's stories
and more
can't but keep going  
there's more sculptures
of life/death standing
than one can pause at
 
more reflections
than the eye and mind
can process...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
.