Tree

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Roots, earth-gripping, riding the loam,

Uggrs trek, horizons adrift on a sea of earth,

An endless voyage of dreams,

Searching, pining, hoping, wanting, needing,

Unformed, devotion perpetually fading like morning mist,

Across the swell of time,

Stretched like ancient parchment,

Dry and brittle in the ocean earth,

Words forever washed away

An endless ocean flow of minds,

Leeched of chant and ode,

By the earths abrasive ebb and flow,

Numbing mental purgative,

Cluttered, confused, constrained,

Adrift in a cloying oily slick, of material things.

An adhesive clutch of material things.

Devotion parched, drowning in neglect,

I clutched the trunk,

Held tight the limb that beckoned so,

Until it morphed, become a temporary staff,

That drew me up and out,

Head wrenched up from black fertile flow,

Thoughts violently shaken awake,

And painful jaw-grip of growth,

Relentless pressure behind the eyes,

The bang of bud a beat that seeks to breach.

And all the while, my eye, unpatched,

Traced the aching reach of limbs,

Climbing high on wind, and hope,

In the dark silence of the night,

Echoes of a horn, and thunder,

As I wished away,

Encroaching ice, strangely shaped,

In blocks and squares, with metal frames

And endless artificial light:

Away, away, away.

Two black birds circled, waiting to land.

© Greg Richards

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