We moved house but left the tree behind
Winter came and death stole her shapely form
She was just wooden bones; I mourned.
We separated; love-torn,
We could no longer be together
Did I have a hand in her death?
I had created steps with nails large enough
to crucify any unwanted messiahs.
That previous summer I had sat with her, high then still higher
looking down upon the world far below that held nothing for me
except for the pretty girl who lived next door,
to whom I was unnoticeable.
Up there entwined in her foliage, she kept me safe
I peered at the stars from a vantage point closer to heaven
when my small telescope afforded a view of somewhere to go,
not somewhere I’d already been
I didn’t want to go back to where I had already been
She showed me the picture across the rooftops,
above the houses, as well as the far-off factories
that blighted the landscape
I had to leave.
Those factories would handcuff my near and far future.
In my mind,
I was already well away before I had set off
She was the platform from which my life jumped
And in my red cape and outstretched arm,
I flew many miles and many years.
The following spring her shapeliness returned
But I didn’t
Tue 24th Jan 2023 13:30
Thank you, appreciated
Tue 24th Jan 2023 08:47
Tue 24th Jan 2023 07:45
A fine poem, JD.
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