The trees had lost the will to speak.
The means to do so were abandoned
I imagine they grew tired
of the constant inquiries of man;
Met time and time again with a refusal to heed.
We warred with one another
while they suffered in silence-
Saplings planted amongst rocks,
In outskirts between road and more road.
We attempt once, to introduce a pantomimic phenomenon.
Grafted them into branches.
Got them to sprout leaves.
But save for swaying in the breeze,
The arms of the redwoods
signed no truths or feelings,
No meaning to glean.
They stayed silent,
Reflecting on the solar rays
without revealing any secrets.
Sap from our spigots
were sometimes sweet,
But they produced no knowledge.
Many of these plants have lived longer than we;
Seen eons and kings take first breaths, then expire.
They ought to be wiser,
kinder than I.
But we could never know what these old men and women dream.
FROM THE AUTHOR
You ever go back to the last several months of works you poured your blood, sweat, and big-kid feelings into and suddenly realized that it was all half-finished trash? Well, that’s what starting a poetry blog is like, apparently.
So that being said, this is the most palatable work I’ve written recently. It took only minimal effort to make it not-trash, and that’s what I like about it.
Use the comment section to let me know if you’d like this section to include analysis and explanation. That way, I can ignore you and do what I want regardless. But seriously- I don’t know what I’m doing, and poetry is dumb to share if it only means something to the author.