Transfiguration

[DieterM]

I am… but metamorphosed, overnight,
into an unweeping willow,
my trunk half-sinking into the
moist soil of your indifference,
untimely spring tingeing my winterbare branches
in hues of brown that still feel
yellow

Shoots grow like stubble on my face,
and new growth, red and orange,
sprouts inwards, every inch gnawing away
the last remains of what I once considered sanity
but which in retrospect
was just another word for
self-deception

Mid-March breezes on my bark
And makes me shudder and bend
like an osier branch,
your snickering reassurance “But I love you!“
echoes though my wicker brain,
oh yes, I know you lie and this
is just your easy way out of
us

But I’m a tree
And I stand still,
What can a tree do?
And I wait for jackdaw days,
trying to cope by humming
with my new and light-green leaves:
“I am… I am… I am…”

[YesNo]

It does seem that the indifference of a lover could transform someone into an "unweeping" tree that is also indifferent. I liked the idea presented here. There may need to be a resolution to the problem of indifference, something different than finding another lover. But that could wait for another poem.

[Delta40]

Clever poem.

I like the subjects response to indifference in a seemingly helpless, yet obstinate way. 'What can a tree do?' It stands firm, roots in the ground, unwilling to shift from its position.

[Dreamwoven]

A beautiful poem, lovely chice of words, truly poetic. Thank you DieterM!

[DieterM]

Thanks, dear YesNo, Delta40 and Dreamwoven – glad you liked it :-)

[dara.cv]

Really love this poem!

"my trunk half-sinking into the
moist soil of your indifference"

love this line, it hints that the willow is still caring, at least halfheartedly. I think the sentiment is carried on by the next line in the leaves still feeling yellowed though truly dead. Is this the self deception?

"Shoots grow like stubble on my face" I love how this line bridges the emotion to a vivid image of the effects of change on the character. I can just imagine a stubble faced man drawn and tired from the barren season ,without passion, from his lover.

Willows are such enchanting trees, you place beauty in the tragedy, thank you for the read.