The Tree

Make that tree Grow
Give it water and blood.
The branches shall spread,
wide they shall cover,
full they shall fall,
on the ground they lay
bringing something to nothing no more.
(and nothing to all)

The roots of this tree
they dig deep, they dig free.
Ever looking, Ever questing
In the land that can never be.
What are they looking for?
What do they need?
Only the branches know
when they were attached to the tree.

The wind is the sound of nature
It offers a handless caress to the now dead leaves
The wind starts to howl
The wind starts to moan
it blows across the ground, the branches and leaves
and up the trunk it flees.
Why is there no branches?
Why is there no leaves?
Where have they gone, what does this mean!

The stream is the voice of reason
As it meanders and spreads its calm across the land.
By the tree, fed with water and blood, it flows.
There is something missing.
There is something gone.
The roots that have gone a questing
are no longer there to help it along.
The streams starts to worry, the stream starts to hurry
The stream then rushes, then the stream hushes.
In the silence the stream starts to wonder, it starts to babble
Why is there no roots (to help along)
Why is there no seeds (to set free)
Why do they search for something that can never be.

Morality is the loon
That floats down the stream, the wind at its back.
It stops by the tree, to ease its troubled mind.
But there is no rest there, there is no peace
For there are no leaves there, that cause any shade.
The sun has set, the moon as rose
The light has pierced the loon’s eyes!
It flaps its wings and cries, “Why Why Why!”
Why did you lose your branches, and your leaves!
Why are they strewn around the bottom of your tree!
The loon stared at the tree until its eyes grew wide, until it’s eyes grew black.
It laughs, and laughs
and the laughter fills the sky.
It laughs, and laughs
it laughs so it doesn’t cry.

And thus the tree has sat there
And thus the tree has been
From ages long past, until time that has yet to be
The leaves are long gone now
the branches turned to dust
The Wind still blows
The stream still flows
The laugh of the loon still knows
and the tree, the tree stands alone.
With no branches to shield,
no leaves to gild,
from the land that has always been.
It sways and creaks,
and it wants what you think
when you look at a tree
with no branches or leaves

The Tree


Joined November 2007

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 2

Artwork Comments

  • Rootedbeauty
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