Friday, September 29, 2017

And the trees hold stories

Sadness
has crept into our bones
It has leaked out into the streets
And has paved the paths we take home

There is no time
nor place
for the bells of joy
that laughter gifts
Nor for the noise
of unimportant phone calls
or birthdays
or papers
piled high on the desk
at a red traffic light

Sunshine,
Today
even you
are out of place

But the trees

They hold the stories
Beneath their skin
Among their boughs
Resting on the surface of their leaves
As they bend and sway
And fail

At breaking

Cracked pavement
And misplaced futures
Stacked in buildings
7 stories high
Their stories untold and misshapen
Lie nameless on the ground

The silence
fills the absence where they once stood
The sirens
paint fires in the sky
And draw crumbled forms
on the faces of the people we once knew

We built this world     
And sat up on it
Like fat kings and jokers
Worried about the stain on our robes
And the shit on our shoes

And then

It shook

Like a reggaeton ass
All jumbled
And messy
And totally unconcerned
With shit you gotta do
Or the poo on your shoe
And the dream of control
disappears with the dust

But the trees

Gripped their toes
And sunk deep still
Reaching for the answers
From the moon and the sky

The Aztecs are knocking
Do you hear?
On the concreted gates
We’ve used to protect
Our hearts, our hands, our feet

We drained a lake
And mother earth
She likes to shake
And those concreted chains
came crumbling down

But the trees remain

And only they can teach us
How to grip our toes into the muddy earth
And sink deeper still
To discover the sacred secrets
Carved in volcanic stone

If we listen
They will whisper
How to stand
How to bend
How to sway
How to fail
At breaking
As the clocks spin
The clouds pass
The rivers run by

And the trees
They hold the stories
And if we surrender
We can hear
How to rise again
How to reach
And dance
And tumble
And crackle underfoot
In the fall

The trees
They cradle
ancient memories
of moons
And fires
And rains
And winds

That will light each star
in the blanket of the night

That will unfold the mystery
Of an open hand
That says
I am you
You are me


And we are the trees.