OLD WOOD.
OLD WOOD.
Lonely, hidden throughout the trees,
whispers whisper in the breeze.
Hurt & sorrow flood each leaf,
turning green from all the grief.
Misery & pain scar their bark,
branches swooped at an arc.
From the soil, graves they dig,
drought comes, death in a twig.
Twisted wood, growing in crooked ways,
backs aching from fiery sun rays.
Fern tips tickle the tips of their feet,
murmuring words full of conceit.
Shaken by lightning's ferocious cry,
the oldest of oaks cower from the sky.
Old wood slowly rotting day after day,
yet more branches grow everyday.
Engraved on one particular wooded tree,
was a heart inscribed with a single letter, D.
Romantic sap oozing from its inner wood,
from the bottom of where the heart stood.
Day after day the tree makes its sap,
thunder refusing with a thunderous clap.
The leaves are bleeding a burgundy red,
warm oranges & yellow hues even spread.
Brothers with no love,dying & falling everyday,
old woods crying, while turning away.
But one tree is different, the only in the land,
to sway,to shake, to stay up and stand.
Years gone by, and there is still life,
in the old wood I once cut with a knife.