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From Wood to Air
How thickly shewn the bark upon
my tree,
'fore scraped bare to
the outer ring of me;
nature's blunted blade though of sharp intent
absent to feel, care, unaware of hurled
weal sore to wend the ages,
days of noons and sun;
wise to clown the deepest sage,
nature has her fun on her own stage;
my bark, all things same to be undone
in last and blackest night.
I query me,
will I abandon will?
I know it flaccid, will to bend,
inevitable, but still
I rue the moment of end's birth;
forest kin all born to bear me I them
we shirk and shrink but share our common end.
Yet no neighbor feels, I feel; pain, the stealing of
my armor,
each and all like me in
rooted hold,
busy 'haps to like thoughts mine
allowed,
in knurled knarled bark I wrap,
sore to nature's reaper role,
her one hand gives and gave,
as her other steals and stole.
Rings of many 'round my solid rod
unringe'd;
to stage unsung undone unringing,
odd, toothless wind invisible commands
my strongest branch toward ground on demand;
I nod, sagacious now to my part,
powerless to end's remand.
But! Oh how
in eon's past I sang to my brethren 'round,
rustling loudest with my thick branche'd eaves; in
autumn, I alone of trees with leaves of reddest blood and richest gold,
so robust bold, the me of then,
my sound at times I feared would drown below
soft greenest ivy quilting sown,
gently coating soothing cool to ground,
natures downy muzzle to peal sounds of
pink skinned creatures breathing joy but how?
So fleeting be they here, a blink, yet all prance
'round as if they had a long life found.
Know not they I've observed
generations of cavorting boys
winning winsome girls
'neath thick ivy promoting life and love in twirls,
fawning both as spindly spotted deer,
in love amazingly,
just being here;
how silly, think I sometimes
to worry for my precious bark;
the day or night will some point arrive
to me've those before us, away now gone;
deeper in the line now, closer, my fear eschewing leafy song,
the beating gong passed to carefree biers of fewer rings,
now I aught offer but a throaty lark
whilst waiting light fade to dark.
Centuries spent brooding to my end, incessant I,
so black of ire,
but now all light, all light!; what mire this!
Alas, gravity, while I slept
thieved me of my height;
this light, so much, but whence it from,
grateful I to it for spelling dark, but wait!
Hearken yon snapping sound!
Discomfiting sniffed I
horrid scent of burning bark.
Oh, brethren hark ye' there!
To late my rings are aired in this
bricked lair consumed of fire;
in dying crackle, last gasp a cackle
'fore smoke now most I swept to chimney up;
irony for me not missed, this day had it enough;
In dawn, of hardest wood, in dusk to air in puffs,
but, mark! How light I now be!
From heavy oak to wind's ease
I've shed my coil of earthbound tree,
Blessed blessed, oh yes, I'm free!
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