carver of a tree


one night

i met a wandering likeness

of myself


its hand stretched out before me

and beckoned me to stay


i wavered




then as i saw the hand recede

from the tree where it had slaved

i saw my life

carved out before me


for a while

i merely stood

and stared


then as i turned to walk away

i looked back

toward the tree

and through the night

i strained to see

but saw no likeness

saw no tree


and what was it

carved on a tree


had it been me


yet surely i

am not just me

not just an image on a tree


and as i plodded on my way

unsure of what i’d seen

i wondered if that hand

that carved my life

belonged to me


yet if that hand was mine

and if that likeness me

had i not carved the hand

that carved the life

that had been me


for surely i

am not just me

not just the carvings on a tree


and so i wrestled

with a heightened sense of me

as not just image

but as carver of a tree



Charles Schlee, You Come Too.  © 2007, 2019. 


◄ the night

the passing of a king ►


Profile image

Charles Schlee

Thu 13th Jun 2019 01:22

Thank you, Devon. I appreciate your comments.

Devon Brock

Wed 12th Jun 2019 23:09

Trying to make sense of a dream, it seems to read. Love the recursive nature in the questioning.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message