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My tree is old.
Old and dead.
My tree has been
cut down.
Carved up.
Mashed about…
Pulverized!
Smeared.
Stained.
My tree is bound
with cords.
Fettered
Crammed tight, used, abused…
And loved.
Poured over.
Brings light,
Brings laughter,
Brings life.
Hope in the darkness?
A friend to these lonely days.
Wise old days to those without days.
Young days to
the old and bent.
My tree has the hearts of generations inscribed on its
trunk.
My tree lifts me up and holds me, brings me down and makes
me question myself, and opens the world before me like a book…
Posts
I'm curious why you put all of us in the labels?
ReplyDeleteSorry I thought Josh said to tag everyone when we posted. I'll just tag the genre next time.
ReplyDeleteNo problem. Label it with your own name, genre, and topic. That way people can click on The Red Herring in the index on the right and quickly get to all of your pieces.
ReplyDelete