The Oak
brother and sisters, have we not arrived here
to praise the beauty of creation? verily,
its forms are as many as the leaves
upon the great oak that had stood
by the saffron door of my grandfather's house
long before he was born, its patient
bark already dark from the cold and the heat and the rain,
a landscape chiseled by the changing seasons.
how he cursed its leaves each fall raking them
into piles, he'd swear to chop the damn thing down!
on the day his body went into the ground
I recognized the oak's branches were a bare topography
set against the cloudless sky - a strange dark river river flowing
downwards, all its rivulets and tributaries merging
into the ocean from which we came.
Posted Aug 11, 2019, 2:34 PM UTC · edited
14
I really like the agrestal, almost primordial themes in this. It reads kinda prose-y but I still got some really cool imagery. I almost wanted more, really cool poem
Thanks! I wanted more, too, but am worried about losing its tightness. Idk, poetry is hard
I definitely get that!