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Poem

I often lay underneath the willow tree
Look upon a sky boundless and unlimited
The opposite of man really
Beckon the gods
Beckon the earth to pity me with answers
Where am I going? 
What am I? 

We often are told of a reality
Bound to the land
Bound to the people
Yet what people are, they too bind me
It seems to be that they are the trees
Rooted into place 
given hope and lies 
As fertilizer for a life unyielding

Made to believe they are limitless
Living fallacies of grandeur all the 
While growing in one direction
Influenced by the winds and by the world around them
Shaping their branches and their growth

And here we are underneath the willow tree
Away from the people and their fabricated land
Away from the distractions of idealized morality
Connected to the willow tree, connected to the Earth 
That kindles our soil and fuels our inner child
Free from the chains of human reality

I lay myself
A dissected enigma
Feel that which is defined
And listen for what is missing
Only to realize I am missing

I ask the willow tree 
That which plagues my mind
That which eats away at me
No matter the passage of time
What is thy name? 
What meaning does though hold?
Does though cling to on this earth? 

I lay there
For what feels like days, months
Knowing fully that the willow tree will not speak
Will not heed my call
Yet I listen
And to this day 
I listen
For every so often
The wind blows
And with it the song of the willow tree.

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