i.
do you ever think
that maybe the sun
gets sick
of smiling
down at strangers
in an audience
that
never
even
bothers
to look
up?
and yet still, each morning
the spectacle continues to rise
shining, singing
to deaf ears
blind minds—
silent applause.
ii.
i feel the wind's breath
creeping up my spine
and can't help but wonder
if maybe the only reason
he whistles is to be heard.
maybe
the wind is just as lonely
as the next passer-by
he tries to hug
but gets lost in translation:
soft skin kisses
transform into blows
this power
he cannot control—
he calls it
love.
but others only ever see
destruction.
and maybe now they
both mean the same thing anyway.
iii.
perhaps trees
only sway
as an attempt
to unchain themselves
from the roots that
shackle them to the ground
confined by the soil
that anchors them
to a cage
they're convinced
is called
"home."
they say
every tree
has a story to be told:
the squirrel
who hollowed out its heart
and made a life out of
the rotting rings inside;
dead voices
carved into peeling skin
arms outstretched
only ever greeted by air
and the occasional bird
that comes to sit
on a broken-boned bridge
that once led to somewhere.
it's true.
every tree
does have a story
to be told
and if a tree falls in a forest
and someone is around to hear it,
it does make a sound.
but the real question
is would anyone
be listening
anyway?
iv.
i think
in a way
humans
can be a lot like nature too.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
i.
do you ever think
that maybe the sun
gets sick
of smiling
down at strangers
in an audience
that
never
even
bothers
to look
up?
and yet still, each morning
the spectacle continues to rise
shining, singing
to deaf ears
blind minds—
silent applause.
ii.
i feel the wind's breath
creeping up my spine
and can't help but wonder
if maybe the only reason
he whistles is to be heard.
maybe
the wind is just as lonely
as the next passer-by
he tries to hug
but gets lost in translation:
soft skin kisses
transform into blows
this power
he cannot control—
he calls it
love.
but others only ever see
destruction.
and maybe now they
both mean the same thing anyway.
iii.
perhaps trees
only sway
as an attempt
to unchain themselves
from the roots that
shackle them to the ground
confined by the soil
that anchors them
to a cage
they're convinced
is called
"home."
they say
every tree
has a story to be told:
the squirrel
who hollowed out its heart
and made a life out of
the rotting rings inside;
dead voices
carved into peeling skin
arms outstretched
only ever greeted by air
and the occasional bird
that comes to sit
on a broken-boned bridge
that once led to somewhere.
it's true.
every tree
does have a story
to be told
and if a tree falls in a forest
and someone is around to hear it,
it does make a sound.
but the real question
is would anyone
be listening
anyway?
iv.
i think
in a way
humans
can be a lot like nature too.
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