octave's corner

self

poems about me and my experiences. so many feelings captured in a gentle stream of words. good and bad, love and hate.

tree

a tree.
deeply rooted to the ground,
as if it were scared to get torn away.
branches reaching out as if to grab hold of another nearby,
bent and crooked,
appearing almost hopeless.
bark engraved with the actions of those passing by,
scrapes and scratches and scars.
that's just the way the tree grew.
each spring, leaves, petals, flowers
sprouting from the branches.
and extra effort to hold up souls travelling by.
love and care and pride.

each spring that went by,
less leaves, wilted petals;
bark ever etched with more scars than last year.
passing creatures scratching in their disappointment.
this tree was tired. unable
to carry all the leaves and the petals and the fruit,
its own creations;
the bare minimum to keep holding up squirrels and birds perched on bent branches.

one day the branches will snap.
too much pressure in a step,
weathered and worn from
years of life. sprouts and new effort
unrewarded, disregarded.
the pressure will kill,
the wind will roar,
the rain will pelt,
and the tree will finally be forced into surrender,
ripped from sturdy roots, life torn away
and it'll all be over.
not worth it, but over nonetheless.
and for a moment,
there will be regret.
replaced by peace and a loud silence
as surroundings disturbed
return to their own lives once again.