Before I go on or begin or continue
I thought to remind you; I’m still that
old car; once shiny new in the showroom;
the one you once admired but now I’ve
faded a bit or maybe a lot; I don’t mind the
dents so much anymore because I know
it’s at least a sign of honesty because it
is all there and still I know how good it
can be

All the words are here, waiting on a
feeling describing how the world stole
what you were born with along with
what was learned but lost on the way;
You know what happened but for some
reason the mark you left on us all was
not to your liking; maybe it’s because
you think we either don’t remember
you or instead remember you but wish
to forget

There’s not a tree in the forest that
hasn’t felt the terror of lightening above
or the heat of a fire below or the cut
of a blade within; but that is the life;
shedding, healing, growing; making
shadows and shelter for the birds
who understand its purpose; capturing
the breezes that blow for those
who wonder about such things

But you only see what shallow minds
value and not what nature allows
you to be; your dreams bring alive
what is inside and it is not your
flaws that make birds and squirrels
gather and live by your gifts; it is
not the scar they leave behind that
judges your worth; it is not their passage
through your life that ends yours

You felt like a memory; a gulch once proud
but now abandoned by the rain; used
by those who once needed you so badly;
but it is what you did for them that matters
and that is who you are even if someone
thinks of you as a wistful promise of what
once was

What can one say against you that they
do not stand accused; what good can one
do that you have not already done; what
can anyone compare to what you have
sacrificed knowing the day would come
when the world would try to separate itself
from you because superficiality is what
is served in high places while wisdom and
dignity is cast aside; there is nothing that
can compare to you; nothing, except what
lives in a forest; beautiful, forever, you