The Red Mind

In a broken world,
That once stood strong and united
It lays where hope stands on the line drawn by light and its contrast
Roots sinking into the ground,
Clinging to the planet’s pure core

Its tendrils waving in the sky,
Like a permanent oak
It’s only observer is but a man,
With a face like a well worn stone
He lays fused to his shadow,
And his shadow to the wall

He watches, day and night,
As the tendrils drop a gold coin here
A drop of perfect beauty there
And all it asks in return, is to be a watcher
Drinking steadily from its consequences, like scorched soil