Does
‘Because’
Rust love’s
Rose buds
Orange?
Or does
It open
On its
Door
Hinge
The
More
Spoken hope
Reveals thoughts
Quiet tongues click
In key strokes sent
Sealed in envelopes?
I am the listless
Tree on the hill
In the distance
Which is about
To topple from
Its awful tug
And pull
Existence.
Bugs Infest
Biting full
Hunks of soul
Slowly eating
The trunk of
My chest.
I’m hibernating, hence,
I’m like a prisoner for instance—
Whose energy is ending
Almost finished
Banished
In the center
Of despair
Where icicle spikes
My bare bark
I’m still here
In the heart of winter air
Not knowing if I want to die
Or what death is— stuck in a blinded stare
Tethered to
A never minded kind
Of appearance.
A numbing tingle
Brings not a single
Thought of knowing
The beauty of my duty
Displaying what is snowing
On my branches
And how it enhances
Wide eyes alive around me
As they hide
I’m hunkered soundly
Unaware
Of death or that I’m even there
I feel nothing
More than flowers fluffing
Unable to love or even care.