so, this is the world.
I am not in it.
It is beautiful.
MARY OLIVER, OCTOBER
Like a warped tree, tangled and knotted
bare, I stand, and watch life
happen. I watch a sapling grow
tall and mighty. Beautiful, breathtaking …
until it is chopped because of its beauty.
I watch as the flowers bloom, then turn to
decay. There is the bear, trying
hard to find its mate. It’s lonely
and sad watching things come
to an end.
To whisper my name proves my
existence,
an existence I’m not ready for.
Sly like the fox, I go back
to being the warped tree.
No one looks at the damage.
No one looks at me. | MD