bending, curving, twisting to grow
searching only for what it needs
why can we not all be
just like the trees

standing firm
in day or night
so persistent
eager to fight

branches, guided by deep waters
lifted up, seeking the light

play music for them
and watch them dance

as you wonder of ether
and come upon a transe

how do they hear
how do they feel

I say, they prove
that ghosts are real

I say, I may
speak to my dead father any day

for, he is not dead

for he, neither you or I

have nothing to dread

I spoke to him in mind and spirit
as he passed away into a black hole

as a star, as a new beginning
he is now whole

everywhere, is he

my father, a God
now omnipresent

as the imaginations in you and me


I hear him, still
just as I see the sun

I hear him, still
as I soak up that sun