Tree House

Written by: Paul Knight-Kirby

Peering through natural protection 
Covered all, now just a sparse trickling and receding mention
Eaten up and made distant from its own 
Sitting alone away from mothers seed, mother bark stroking comfort
Of wind and leafs, motion free and growing wildly 
The salvaged base crooked merged into tight space 
The workmanship amateur, with much pride in place 
Sturdy with random dimensions like outer space 
Bits of plastic, traffic cones, forgotten workman devices found left put high on the cradle of the tree, joint together like camouflage and marrowbone  
The rust, the faded logo, the burnt mattress, the broken door, 
All imaginative hope for a child’s awe 
The sense of order in work undertaken 
The subconscious sense, the arousing sense of safe disposition  
The confusion of the hours laid, into making something of scrap decayed 
Portrayed in the child’s labour binding sprit and friendship 
Building a sanctity of accomplishment, happiness void of the sensitive 
Then come the jealous who tear it down rejoicing in their easily made destruction why the child’s asks, why am I found in the tree house elevated and hidden from ground? High above inequality and rudimentary reprobates now I must digest 
The pointless efforts I did commit for the freedom of evils best
Pure evil I do detest and bewildered why nature would regurgitate 
The infestation of less. Plain speaking and honestly confessed. 
Now exposed and open the tree house lay dead on grass bottom, 
Rubble of the tree house condemned to ruin like my emotions 
With earthly being hate and sorrow the only feeling.