The Hanging Tree
I found my tree long ago.
It didn't matter who touched it first,
Because I truly felt the tree.
I felt its life,I felt its age.
I felt its sorrows,I felt its pain
It could not speak,but I heard its voice.
It was deep,and thundering,the result of rain and sun
Over a hundred years.
I left my tree,with a thousand memories.
As years past,I grew old,like the tree I found long ago.
I returned to my tree,to finish a task never forgotten.
As I placed my hand where I had placed it long before.
I felt its life,I felt its pain.
It mirrored my own
This time I understood its message.
I sat beneath its canopy,
Weaving a rope.
Weaving a rope made out of my failures,
My lost hopes,my forgotten dreams.
I stepped out,seeing the moon,hearing the stars, realizing I was alone.
A chill ran down my spine,a tear down my face.
I turn around,
And look at my tree,
My nowhere tree.
I see that it weathered the test of time,
Not without harm.
I could see broken branches,withered roots.
I could see the marks that man had left on its surface,cutting it to fit his needs
But still,the tree held strong.
Held firm by its deep roots,supple even in strong winds.
I step back under the canopy of a million leaves,each one special.
I wrapped my arms around my tree,smelling its fresh scent.
I realized that it was free,even when cursed with immovability
Its roots stretched down to hell
Its branches up to heaven.
It was persistent,with roots of knives.
Stone crumbles beneath its never ending advancement.
Its leaves block the sun,soaking up all of its light.
On the ground was a lifetime of leaves
Deep and soft.
I lay down to sleep,knowing I was protected.
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