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Rooted

Contributed by franciswolf on Tuesday, 18th July 2006 @ 08:58:42 PM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

I’m the collective teller to the elder trees
Who relate along with sad stories
Of being rooted and aging while the world just flies you by

And how this mind, it falls like their leaves
While the crumbling conscience grieves
All wrapped and worn under another season’s torment

They collect it all like gravestones would
Sap it off, or at least they should
Let it bleed down them, till pain’s like rain, washing right away

But me the teller, shackled to human form
Am not given excuse or ability to transform
I must walk away; let these birth given legs give me no pity

All so on trudging apart of this world
To which has not been politely placed, but rather hurled
Where it’s necessary to act like the frame’s I’m freed from

Grabbed by the wing of mother destiny
Whom clenches tight and burns the tree
She whisper’s aching, piercingly, “See the ashes, you’re no ashes”

The ashes, ashes of beauty’s child
Set divertingly amongst unknown wild
Smiling clenched, truth is revealed in the power’s burn

See mother destiny? You’ve lost control
The bark’s crisped, but behold the soul
You’ve freed it; there it goes to world’s we only dream

So true, the teller I am, was in speech
That weakened the clench, released with a foul screech
And so two again, were one, and one was on the run

I’m always on the run,

Copyright Â© franciswolf ... [ 2006-07-18 20:58:42]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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