Touray

And the trees blow into the wind’s current,
It is the inevitable that leaves are lost,
Things that the tree once held,
Things that the tree once displayed,
Has been detached,
By some things unseen,

There is a root in my chest,
Planted,
Growing,
Moving,
Hurting,
Constantly hurting me,

Yet possibly this is a dance,
Or a really long dream,
Who knows who has a chance?
To walk safely past,
Lurking things,

I desired to be covered,
I desired to be known,
I desired to rest my head,
I desired to be home,

Soft as cotton,
Wool is,
So I lay down,

Soft as grass,
It is,
So I lay down,

The rain slightly taps me,
But I can not wake,

So the tree blows
And the sky grays,
A sheep growls,
For a moment,
Then turns away….

This entry was posted on Monday, June 4th, 2007 at 10:43 pm and is filed under heart ache. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.