The suffering, as I stood there in the doorway,
Was like chainsaws churning up my insides,
My pith pulverized to pulp; my brain choked on the visions of the mind.
An ugly, clogging, knot in the throat
Is nothing as my eyesight is slashed and burnt to ashes.
For you were my sunlight in the forest:
The lucid green of the first slender snowdrop stem
And the proud green of the resonant oak with fingerprint bark.
My tree's heartwood was in your pores and my very meaning
Trickled down your phloem. You were my zenith
And my nadir too. The sun switched off
And played solely to the jealous moon.
This slow-rooting tree, solemn by the seasons
Was not light or bright or green enough for you.
So you stole my sap, and slipped it to another's lips.
With one chop, you felled me
Yet I did not feel it 'til after I twigged.
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 4:39 AM UTC
The suffering, as I stood there in the doorway,
Was like chainsaws churning up my insides,
My pith pulverized to pulp; my brain choked on the visions of the mind.
An ugly, clogging, knot in the throat
Is nothing as my eyesight is slashed and burnt to ashes.
For you were my sunlight in the forest:
The lucid green of the first slender snowdrop stem
And the proud green of the resonant oak with fingerprint bark.
My tree's heartwood was in your pores and my very meaning
Trickled down your phloem. You were my zenith
And my nadir too. The sun switched off
And played solely to the jealous moon.
This slow-rooting tree, solemn by the seasons
Was not light or bright or green enough for you.
So you stole my sap, and slipped it to another's lips.
With one chop, you felled me
Yet I did not feel it 'til after I twigged.
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