Feb 2015
I woke up this morning
and found a tree in my yard.
It was yellow as corn in
the trunk, soft and hard.
There I planted once a tree,
though Death took it, never grew.
Now I stand in front and see
it; appeared out of the blue.
Lovely is my tree of gold,
has a branch from which will hang a swing,
motionless when outdoors is cold,
dancing blissfully in spring.
And I will wipe its golden tears,
and watch that no one cuts it down.
I'll guard my tree for many years,
behold its ever-changing gown.
But I blink.
Cold and sudden blows the wind
and the trunk now seems like rotten
while all leaves fall and spin.
My tomorrow hopes become forgotten
as I see the wood bend and bow
and my helplessness burns like molten.
The night, black as a crow,
covers the corpse-to-be
that's waiting impatiently in the death row.
With a distinct cracking sound,
the omen bird takes flight.
I do not weep and do not cry
while I get inside my house so warm,
it's the second time I see it die,
having not lived nor even been born,
and I ran out of tears the first time.
and found a tree in my yard.
It was yellow as corn in
the trunk, soft and hard.
There I planted once a tree,
though Death took it, never grew.
Now I stand in front and see
it; appeared out of the blue.
Lovely is my tree of gold,
has a branch from which will hang a swing,
motionless when outdoors is cold,
dancing blissfully in spring.
And I will wipe its golden tears,
and watch that no one cuts it down.
I'll guard my tree for many years,
behold its ever-changing gown.
But I blink.
Cold and sudden blows the wind
and the trunk now seems like rotten
while all leaves fall and spin.
My tomorrow hopes become forgotten
as I see the wood bend and bow
and my helplessness burns like molten.
The night, black as a crow,
covers the corpse-to-be
that's waiting impatiently in the death row.
With a distinct cracking sound,
the omen bird takes flight.
I do not weep and do not cry
while I get inside my house so warm,
it's the second time I see it die,
having not lived nor even been born,
and I ran out of tears the first time.
This poem is about a relationship I had, that unfortunately, like this tree, died just at the beginning. For months I thought that she had already forgotten about me until, one day, we met and we start talking about what happened. That was when I discovered that she still had feelings for me, that there was a tree, and that was quite surprising. I started thinking of our relationship again, just imagining a possible and not distant future. But nothing had changed since the first time, and some days after our encounter, I faced the reality. There was nothing there, no golden tree, but a putrid one, and, to my disgrace, I decided to end with that game. Nevermore. And if I shall find another ****** tree, I myself will cut it down.
