The Tree
I was a child, afraid of darkness and strangers
What lingered in my closet, irrational dangers
Snuggled between emerald leaves and autum’s residue
I climbed above branches as seasons waved adieu
Carved initials into treebark with wood-chipped fingers
The scent of daydreams washed with coppice still lingers
Felt warmth on my shoulder when moonlight teased the tree
Silver beams peeked through knotholes just to visit me
But now I’m running in empty highways
Finding bits of me in dead-ends of this maze
Stuck in a metro forever leading me
Down the path of some distant memory
Troubled sleeping in the lonely, roaring subway
Misled by blinding neon signs stuck in a pathway
Skyscrapers peering down, leering at what they see
Stoplights turning red when they’re ahead of me
I return to the tranquil, moss-frosted grove
As a native, homegrown, to my treasure trove
To find dead branches on thin, dusty ground
Aesthetic and lawless, now cracked and browned
Searching for intials carved into treebranches crazily
Only to find a firmly-tied noose hanging lazily
Harsh rope cutting against a poor someone’s throat
A knot staring back at me, it almost seems to gloat
Yet something stops me from seeing the dead face
For I remember a child in a wonderful place
Afraid of darkness and strangers
What lingered in a closet, irrational dangers
Without seeing, without feeling, I know it’s she
Simply a dusty and forgotten remnant of me
Now I’m afraid of setting off for something new
And returning a stranger to what I thought I knew
If I could come back to emerald leaves and autum’s residue
And climb over branches as seasons wave adieu
If I could come back to silver beams visiting me
If I could come back to the tree