[This is not a story. Several people I follow post poetry now and then. When I first started “creative writing”, I too, wrote poetry. Last night, I struggled for a long time to write a post. I couldn’t publish it, my friends. It came out too harsh. I put it away.
I thought of leaving the blog blank today but I kept going back to this poem I wrote recently. I put this here today in place of my thoughts as it is part of who I am. Someday, I may tell that story too. But not today…]
Branches reaching skyward
Thick, waxy leaves
Fresh, fragrant blossoms of spring
Lifting up, pushing past surroundings
Yearning for more sun
Pushing aside the other plants
A quest to conquer all
But the spring night’s darkness came
In an instant that could never be rewound
All its branches were bludgeoned
Shut down, in shock
Roots unscathed enough to feel deep pain
Other trees grew above and around.
In the days, months and years that followed
Cold, bitter hard rains, drought, extreme heat, wind and snow came and went.
Tiny new branches appeared
Growth from the deadened stump
Delicate and weak
Many buds perished.
Blooms were few, their scent faint
A ghostly reminiscence of time long past
Surrounded by plants it had once forged past
Light came through
New branches grew stronger, thicker, over the scars
And in the moment it knew mortality
A tiny seedling dropped from its small blossom
The seedling stretched to sapling and rose up
Different from the rest
The tree, now old, found peace
In a different life