H.C. Field
08-14-2012, 03:20 PM
I perched in a fork of withering boughs,
In an oak of which only time knows.
How it holds such beauty only God can tell,
For he was there when the seed fell.
But then,
I saw the rise of other trees,
Saplings laying sheltered, begged from their knees.
I briefly closed my eyes,
As the stars caressed the skies.
The air grew thin, the ground sucked dry.
A single tear laughed in my eye,
Its branches tumbled, broken from their path.
.
I turned my back and gazed at the sun,
But the sphere sat flat, and meaning wouldn’t come.
And through the fog I couldn’t see,
What my life, would ever be.
Yet, the fire was dwindling, and winter was near.
So down I glanced, my conscience clear.
But and I couldn’t reach.
Silently, eternity calls,
Took me down its darkened falls.
Delivering me to the roots,
Where death shall reap eternal loots.
So pray that God can’t hear,
The axe, so fatefully near.
In an oak of which only time knows.
How it holds such beauty only God can tell,
For he was there when the seed fell.
But then,
I saw the rise of other trees,
Saplings laying sheltered, begged from their knees.
I briefly closed my eyes,
As the stars caressed the skies.
The air grew thin, the ground sucked dry.
A single tear laughed in my eye,
Its branches tumbled, broken from their path.
.
I turned my back and gazed at the sun,
But the sphere sat flat, and meaning wouldn’t come.
And through the fog I couldn’t see,
What my life, would ever be.
Yet, the fire was dwindling, and winter was near.
So down I glanced, my conscience clear.
But and I couldn’t reach.
Silently, eternity calls,
Took me down its darkened falls.
Delivering me to the roots,
Where death shall reap eternal loots.
So pray that God can’t hear,
The axe, so fatefully near.