I’ve written a poem about the beautiful, iconic cypress tree that was felled by the winds earlier this week. I love that darn tree as did so many of us. I’m a playwright, not a poet, but this one hit me between the eyes.
In waves of pain,
gnarled in scars,
a Tree blew over.
No chance surviving the knife.
Her roots to shallow
like the ghosts standing,
staring,
snapping pictures of Her.
Fallen.
Dying.
Still… she waved to me
through her tears, her screams.
She smiled at me.
And blew into Source the sound of Her majesty:
Om.
Om.
Om.
Ah-men.
A thousand years She gave.
More
to the little ones on Her giving limbs of love.
She was ours.
The tears now endless
and hearts reeked in sorrow
Still.
She smiles.