Like a giant Sequoia tree, well aged and outwardly still tall and firmly anchored
I proudly display, my outer senescent bark, but inside, I’m pitted and cankered
Still majestic and straight, branches spread, with fingered needles reaching for the sky
But at each limb joint, those cracks lay hidden; not yet visible, to the naked eye
Those blisters ravage and rage, at my inner trunk; but not, so you can clearly see
Hidden by the sap; like those morning rheum tears, which seep out and crust on me
I reach skyward, extend my branches to the sun; my sieve tubes there unplugged
But below, my veins congested, and my arteries full of sap, are fully clogged
And yet I stand, without an outward tremble; disguising well the tremors in my roots
With all my strength, I will them hold; do not cede, to the pain that in them shoots
I will perceiver; not able to bend with the wind, I stand firm still; until I break
Stiffen my resolve; until my fluids coagulate, and rigor mortise does me overtake
BOEMS BY JA 397