Saturday, July 4, 2009

musing with the trees

our children are born
we groan and are heard.
our children die and get sick
we moan and are silenced.

our dreams begin again
visions of everything wrong
our sense of shame and anger
dreams without sleeping.

i wonder if the trees know of this
cycle of good and terrible
this circle of bliss and misery
drawn on our bellies.

sometimes i swear i hear them weeping
when the wind cuts through thier branches
it sounds like loss or hurt
or contentment.

if only we could grow rings
and have something to show
for the pain of each years passing
then we too could be consoled by the breeze
like those towering branches of trees
arms outstreched
embracing the next blow
of snow or rain.

we would grow wise in our waiting
and give birth each year knowing
only a few of our saplings will survive.

1 comment:

Hannah Stitzlein said...

These words are so beautiful! I thought I would share with you one of my writings. Also I would like your address if you would be so kind as to send it my way. :0)

Connection of water to sand
and sand to me
me to the sea and back again.

Mist blends lines of sky and sea
Cloud, mist, sea -- no distinction
I am mist and mist is me.

Coming in and going out
forever held taught between
Gravity and Weightlessness,
Purity and Decay,
Light and Dark.