Charred

 

Wood, has life,

Has meaning beyond the browns and greens,

     And they talk,

Give alarm and signal – danger,

     Animals thrive beneath -

Above and beyond and I;-

In my loneliness have met

With their solitude and know

The roots that tether,

The roots that bind to places

Outside of their belief,

Are never chosen for their own.

 

     They are never taught argument

Humans find cherishing,

Instead swaying life in winds

And rains and suns and

Coloured rainbows of hope,

     Alas,

They are culled without mercy,

The upright being - believing

He better,

     And I could be happy

As a tree,

If my history did not display

The carbon facades of

Being burned alive,

For wherever I walk,

Wherever I choose to settle roots,

The charred footprint speaks for itself,

 

     I could be placed

In an everglade,

I could be placed in meadows

That heal and tend my wounds

And cater all wish upon life,

     But I am carcinogenic

With experience of hell,

Tailored only for the grave,

And I’ll never be happy

With the memory of war

That is etched in rings

Around my heart,

     A war that has been

All life,

All existence

And all death,

 

     But the birds still sing

Within my branches,

Songs of days and nights

In ancient history before

The battle of concrete and uprights,

     And though I never want

To give in,

My death as I reach

For the sky

Will be my release,

And a tree I’ll be no more.

 

Michael Waite 08th March 2016.