If trees be poems by the earth
In avid joy I read each one
Florets writ in fragrant verse
Inked with beams of the morning sun
In shade, a fruit, a whiff of air
I rest beneath wide branches spread
A cavort of emerald canopy
Bestows comfort upon my breath
I lean against the bark, recline
And think of how it stands in time

Through tunneled years it's stoic trunk
Stands proud against frost and rain
Drops it's leaves to nakedness
Till spring dresses in green again  
On but an arm, the  koel sings
'Tis home to birds that weave a nest
Haven to sojourners ache
Clasp around, hold close to breast
I trace the names of love engraved
Now forgot; asleep in graves

On felled bark my soul I pen
On papyrus the past I feel
The murmured songs of sentiments
In susurrus as branches kneel.
Nymphs would hide or fairies entreat
With fireflies in silver light
Creatures tip toe on their feet
Lithe, in the darkness of the night
In engraved lines meaning I see
What better song, what poetree?



Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky -  Gibran

I had a dream last night,
You were there but without a face like usual.
We stood atop a cliff,
I stood too close to the edge like usual.
I recall a deafening silence bouncing off the waves.
You couldn't hear them bash against the rocks.
I turned my back upon the sun,
Setting deep into its routine slumber.
I faced your faceless face and I spoke softly,
Loud enough to break apart the silence;
Like great claps of thunder,
'Tell Mum I fell'.
You didn't flinch when
I stepped backwards;
2 steps too far.

You watched summer fade
And her petals along with her;
You watched the world die
Without any resistance and wept.
You vowed to learn from it
You would not be a delicate flower
Or the gentle trill of birdsong
Wavering, fluttering at
Nothing more than a breeze
You hardened your heart
Until it became diamond,
Harsh and beautiful
But you forgot
You forgot though diamond is hard
It is also brittle
And one day your heart
Was not hard enough,
And it shattered
Spreading like eternal stardust
Until you were nothing
But a name to weep.

Anesthetized and scoured clean, my mind reflects these halls
Of almost-forgotten ***** spills and madness within these walls.

Artificial sleep,
Restless, blood-shot pits;
Reflections, dark and hollow,
Echo visions in raving fits.

This place is said to heal - return sanity from whom it's fled:
Ammend the twisted, save the wretch, cauterize what's bled.

i bent my body into a canvas of pillared secrets, and opened my eyes into a land of streetlights and headlights, but never into stars. now i'm drunk on the light of the moon. literal moon-shine. don't look back, it says. don't look back. but i turn my headache head anyway until i am an owl, accompanied by the vastness of everything i'd forgotten.