it is the birthday of a dead man
the day the world began
the end of all that has ever been and all that ever will be
and it is during this time of year that i am reminded of a minuscule speck
a mountain of joy, an avalanche of the heart
of emotions I dare not speak 
of words too intricate to attempt to explore
i swing my heart by a tethered rope
with the hope that when it falls flat against the cold tiles of realization 
it will mend itself with knowledge that all things mend
and i have felt
as minuscule as a speck
and as grand and loved as a mountain 
and i remember my beloved oak tree 
extending its branches far beyond my reach
beyond the horizon 
beyond me
and with eyes twinkling with wonder 
i ask my beloved oak tree
will you please stay with me?
he smiles knowingly
there are words he does not speak
and when i ask
he shelters me
he urges me to ask for whatever answers my heart desires 
and when he speaks 
i am all wonder as i hear words like i've never heard before and letters said with a command beyond that of a general 
and that is how we spend our days
i am all the oak tree wished for
i marvel at everything it has seen 
i am so happy he is my oak tree
and there might be emptiness where it stood
but I will always make room for it next to me