February 2, 2010

He gave a push, he pulled and shoved
the walking, talking trees.
He tried to place them one above;
the other, underneath.

He calculated, summed the weights
of leafy boughs and trunks
He wrote down all the small mistakes
and carved the greatest ones.

With tactful words and feigning smile
He used the biggest saw
Endeared himself yet all the while
He cut them, made them fall

Oh what could trees do in response
To such a cruel a fate?
But one recourse, to take at once:
To life be now awake.

Would levers leave advantages
of airy ladened words?
Could clever man who leverages
be more than be endured?

The one who takes by force or guile
will surely be assumed
into the roots of earthen trials
or fiery wooden doom,

until the day will come and break,
revealing truths untold.
And give him more than he can take
inside his fragile bowl.

In either case he’ll break before,
or after time has stopped.
Until that time, a tree can hold
his wounds as though a cross.


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