Hey Man, please Don't cut me Don't lop me Don't trim me It hurts me
My branches are my arms Leaves are my nerves Their abundance is my wealth And exuberance is my health My leaves are cast in draught So I could live for longer In spring they loom and bloom To blush me with fruits n flower Please, don't lop my leaves Don't cut my branches It makes me quiver, It makes me bleed.
Children play and swing on my arms Fills my heart with abundant charm Bird's chirping n singing, makes me...
My beloved Like an oak tree Rooted with wisdom Sharpened leaves How your branches snake To hold my wandering feet Into your canopy I rest in your shade And watch you grow Like fine wine, you age beautifully Those hollows I trace Hiding my belongings Keep them safe My beloved Like an oak tree
More strange words from when I wake from dreams. It's on my profile I'm a tree, now not literally obviously or maybe I'm just a Little Shop Of Horrors in my own right. I have a lot of dreams where I'm a tree though but I'm also me, observing me being a tree.
In this dream I was a tree, also me watching myself as a tree, all the way until I was permeating infinity.
Some words were narrated in the dream and others were just at the tip of my mind when I woke up.
Here within this moment of solitude far away from the rhythmic noises, from the depth of the world with its systematic theology system of control. I can relate to the very existences of my mind and heart, as my mind becomes relax from the tension and anxiety and madness desperately needing an escape. For even my heart has become an beating drum breathing life back into me, as I inhale and exhale this untouched atmosphere not touched by mankind, as the true beauty shines through the illumination through rays of the golden sun peeking through the trees. For it is here beyond those peeking eyes...
If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?
From the forest to the stage A tree makes a journey A transformation And it becomes something entirely different But certain trees Have a special purpose
The process From logger to manufacturer Through craftsman, artists and artisans Is a miracle at the hands of men And the final product Are drums to be heard From living rooms and garages To studios and concert halls All around the world