The tree

If every leaf of that tree had a name
I’d have to learn them all.
The branches touching them
didn’t know what they were called.
It was stupid that I felt that way
but it was beyond control,
I’ve spent many hours of my days
under its treetop, in the cold.
During summer days
its shadow my name called
and if a breeze touched my face
by the leaves persuaded was.

So when I almost lose their trace
as the wind takes them by force,
I bring them close again
with an urgency that’s odd.
But I feel sad if I don’t do it
’cause that tree, believe it or not,
was the only living thing
in this asylum or the world,
that accepted the freak I was
since I came to this madhouse.
It never runs away,
and doesn’t care that I come close.

By | 2017-07-09T01:03:10+00:00 March 21st, 2017|Poetry|0 Comments

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