Original Poem: An Upcoming Drought

You were inside my body
And as you performed your sorcery so close to my heart
I sat there as you looked at my lungs
And implied that it didn’t matter that I was drowning
And then you scored my mind with uneven patches of apathy and self-loathing
As if you were an unskilled farmer
Waiting for the rain to fall
And it did and they grew
Into mountains of missed opportunities
Spent with you in the fog
Instead of out in the open.
You sent me wandering away from life
And I’m struggling to find my way back to it
But I present evidence to you
Of an upcoming drought.

Original Poem: Green is the Rarest Color

The face on the tree is speaking again.

He tells of a world full of sin –

Men with machines that do horrible things

Like destroy what doesn’t fit in.

 

He remembers a time

Long, long ago

When men were good to his people.

He had lots of friends and lived a good life

Until those men turned evil.

 

They came by the hundreds,

The thousands, it seemed

And destroyed all the life they could see.

The ax came down on his sisters and brothers,

Leaving just a stump and a mystery.

 

Now he sits alone is a city park,

On a small patch of grass surrounded by concrete.

The only company he gets is during the summer

When the small, noisy children can’t stand the heat.

 

The face on the tree is a witness

To a crime committed by the keepers of this world.

We’ve done a terrible job, as far as he can see.

He’s the only one left,

But for some reason even he couldn’t stay.

They chopped him down when he got in the way.