Thursday, January 27, 2011

My saturated stems

Although my roots are deep,
my mourning leans towards death;
drown these sorrows on the eve of a
silver lake, so I may sleep amongst my
earthen friends - long since gone,
to rest.

I reach with withered sticks,
tangled limbs towards grey
skies, crying - bare trunk,
once a soul, now left -

Swirling underneath,
such currents rage
this calm appearance,
surface, but a stage.

Twisted roots
at the base
I can no longer
see ahead,
nor wish
to face.

My saturated stems.


  1. is often what we can not see that tells the real tale of a tree...

  2. David,
    Absolutely brilliant. Such a perfect metaphor for your "burden". Just know that among these truths, so eloquently penned, also comes the inevitable reality of the budding Spring.

    Your friend,

  3. What a beautiful tale of the treat... I enjoyed. Thanks

    ॐ नमः शिवाय
    Om Namah Shivaya
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