deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Brittleness of a Branch After a Forest Fire


I used to
Sit
Watching the
Vines
Grow and wrap
Their tendrils
Around the
Fence of
My backyard
Fascinated
By a
Fundamental
Of life
Growth
I could
Pick
Off
A leaf
And it
Would still
Continue to
Grow and creep
Around the
Walls
Like it
Was alive
Healing
And terrified
Running
So slow
There was
A tree
That was
Cut
Down
I sat
At the stump
Every morning
Waiting
For it
To
Grow back
Why hasn’t
It grown back
I asked
It can’t
Why not
I remember
Counting
The rings
Inside
The scars
Remnants
I watched
The vines
Swallow the
Stump
Why didn’t it

Grow

Back



Grow back
Grow back
Grow back
Grow back


It only

Rots




It’s rotting
It’s rotting
It’s rotting
It’s rotting
It’s rotting



Written by Nixprty
Published
Author's Note
Growing with unhealed wounds, the skin pulls apart to split open the fading scars. I’m supposed to be bullet proof, fall 5 times and get up 6. I’m supposed to rise above it all. So why? Why am I not growing back? Swallowed by vines and termites, I break before I bend.
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