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Of Trees
June 25, 2011
I am of trees,
Fragile twigs snap in my quake,
And all those subtle realities,
A mind disillusioned is to make.
Cutting away that which brings truth,
A cackle of dried leaves at the feet,
And since when did progress bring youth?
A troubled stump I have yet to meet.
Falling,
Crashing,
Mauling,
Bashing,
Is there,
But a,
Hope in,
This world?
Those bold gatekeepers who so selflessly protect us,
Replenish this industrious world of airs undeserved,
Remove from your withered face that gloomy gus,
And forgive them, for they are not as villainous as you have observed.
© Anna R, Sudbury, ON, Canada
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This article has 2 comments.
thetruthawaits94 SILVER said...
on Aug. 1 2011 at 2:36 pm
This is so unique and wonderful. I can imagine you in the forest writing this while sitting uder a tree! I really love the meaning of this poem, too. Great job.
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"Most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes." Oscar Wilde
"The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame."