Poetry Corner (Experimental): A wooden heart.

I gaze and wonder, all around trees, breathing sort of in reverse for you and me,
I don’t have a special one, I wonder how that feels, not me, the tree, don’t be silly,
Every tree, unique and different, its own soil, wind, water, the stuff it needs,
From a little sapling thing, they just grow, drink and feed.

Leaves are falling around, like my hair, clogging up the drains,
I know they don’t have a heart, no artery, no veins.
They have no brain, no nerves, they do not feel, they never cry,
I guess when they get hurt they never get to ask why.

I planted a memorial tree once, there is a plaque and everything,
It was a long time after their funeral, autumn, should have been spring,
Freezing cold, windy, desolate and bleak, the season knew them well,
A different generation, distance was love can’t you tell?

This tree is different, not destined to be cheap and tacky mdf,
So proper and correct, know one could know when you wept,
Stiff upper lip, be a man, stand tall and strong like that there tree,
Trees have scars, cruelty leaves its mark just as indelibly,

A tree has usefulness, ships, houses even early planes made out of wood,
I know, be like a tree, I know, I know I should.
I am not them; they are not me, I am the only one who can see,
That a tree cannot feel, it cannot dream, it cannot hope, long to be.

What a lucky lucky tree, alive not conscious of gritty reality,
There is more to them than could ever be to me,
I am not jealous, despite all they are and I obviously am not,
Yes my tree, you bring life, you cradled creativity

I am not better, I have no superiority, sonnets and symphonies not written by me,
I cannot gloat because I can walk, talk, or cut you down and sail the sea,
In truth, I cannot build a bench and sit down to rest,
Unlike you, I have failed life’s test.

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