Poem To the Tree

To the tree The standby viewer , the fortune teller who avoided my path, What was it ? The way I looked? Or my innocence you envied? you were selfish and heartless or should I say rootless ? with your leaves dropping one by one as they turned golden crisp meeting the ground, every mid September over and over viewing me and the equivocated path my feet were rooting in, ignoring any signal of common sense. Where my first kiss was stolen, and the stairwell were one after another took the lucky chance, you stood by with your everlasting green vibrant leaves in mid may watching me, as my everlasting pure soul poured out and out draining the good leftover, at the top of the small hill where I’d spend the days rolling rolling and aching with scraped legs. till the blood in my scrapped legs stopped to reach my wrists and my beautiful friend depression wrapped itself in loneliness as my personal merry Christmas gift. You knew you always did yet though all you did was stand and pose, model for my catastrophes and observe observe my pain and laughters. you could of warned me saved me, preserved my heart in a frozen winter leaf, but you were rootless and preserved yourself . You let the whole world crumble and crunch between us, as you acted the spectator at the globe, while time and days became unknown and self hatred became the main show, yet though there was no much you Could’ve done apart from a fair warning , as id repeat every mistaken step just to meet with him again, and taste his lips against my own and fall into love with his trace on my skin and his everlasting green windows to the world. ~Andrea Beyer