The Children watched in playful awe at the man with the gentle eyes and the fungous feet...
"Jump!! Jump! Jump!!" their tiny voices squeaked.
Some raced around its trunk-- others sat upon its roots, but all of them beamed with glee,
at the man perched atop The Wondrous Tree.
"Today is but a dream to yesterday's fragile memory" his gentle eyes wished they could say.
Instead, they filled with longing tears, at the meaning of the day.
From this height their giggles were but the chorus to the wind's sweet melody.
Their pitter-patter-- gentle chatter-- in the heart of The Wondrous Tree.
The familiar pungent scent and bitter taste that rose,
From the custard yellow toe-nails up to his leaky nose,
Was nothing new, but something old, like a fable long foretold.
He didn't mind it, he quite liked it; after all he could not fight it.
They were his since age six, not a problem for anyone to fix.
But it was he that had a plan,
To be fulfilled when child, became man.
Long he listened, as a boy, to the tortured cries of Men of Age,
Who said that earth and Life was nothing but a stage.
"This pain, this torture, this life-- I cannot wait to pass.
This body's fat, this skin is lax-- in death I shall be free at last!"
And yet the boy, with fungous feet but gentle eyes,
Always knew that 'neath every surface, something Wondrous lies.
Within his mangled feet something struggled too for Life.
So, he paid no mind to those who had none,
And in his hand, his one true plan,
A great big seed of a rare sweet Plum.
"This lovely seed shall be my stage, when I am of the older Age.
And to those that doubt, and mope about, shall I free them from their Whining Cage.
For the greatest gift is Life, filled with love and plenty of Strife.
Life is given, not sustained, and without struggle nothing's gained.
We have always been around, from rocks to monkeys to people; we've all come from the ground.
And there we'll go without a peep, to that restful slumber, back to sleep.
So while you're here, shed many a tear for those that never were.
Then share a smile, for a longer while, and enjoy this whooshing blur"
Then, the boy, gave the future tree a quick quiet gentle lick
And ran toward the sunset, never feeling ill or sick.
Upon a hill he planted the sweetest Plum's seed.
In time, he loved, he married, his pain only he did carry,
On the feet the fungus feed.
But never did his eyes grow cold or distant, not even for an instant.
Nor even when his Lover‘s eyes, sickened, flickered their goodbye.
“No need for hurt or greed. Why try to say goodbye? Why?
When we all know, ‘neath every surface something Living Lie”
So when regret and sorrow would make his body ill,
His mind and soul would soar, to that Miraculous Hill.
Now the boy, dressed as Man, was inches from his youthful plan;
While the seed, now a tree, was eager for its final act.
“It is true the world’s a stage, and we its only builder—
Not a Buddha, not a Krishna, not a Priest or Holy Sister.
Let it rain without strain the sweetest Plum-- your only fruit--
From the highest fragile leaf, to your strongest hidden root.
So give and take, and Live and die,
For where there is death neath its surface there is Life”
He closed his gentle eyes, and rubbed his itchy feet,
But instead of jumping, smiling he did leap.
In his final breath, not a word of this did he speak,
Because as we roam, together or alone,
It is a discovery worthy of your seek.
The kids below played a funny game of duck-duck goose,
As the man’s purple bloated neck swayed tightly on the noose.
And Plums did rain, And Life did remain and death a whisper on the plain.
The groundless feet ****** and pranced, a short and happy little dance.
And the ducks and the goose, excitedly let loose-- faces slobbered in Plum juice;
Allowing death not a jealous wink or a pained side-glance.
2009
