InvasiveThoughts.com

Sharing Tree

The Giving Tree I thought was good.

Now I see unhealthy wood.

It gave of self in rarest form,

yet reaped no love in return.

It gave and gave ‘til none was left,

save a stump – its one last gift.

And still the boy does not see

the value of the Giving Tree.

So when comes the very last page,

The boy is tired and worn with age.

Despite the tree’s steadfast will,

the boy is old and unhappy still.

I wonder would things different be

If it had been a sharing tree.

Reckoning

Reptiles drop their tales in fright and live to grow another.

Humans split the limb alike, but bind it with a tether

so long and thin as time goes by we think of it as other.

But memory grows its tendrils out from wounded limb to well,

and bides its time 'til boundary thins and tendrils' touch is felt.

Then all hell breaks loose – or that's the way it seems

as tendrils hook, then pull apart the self I know as me.

A foulness spills out my bowels and takes my life-force with it.

Where food once fed is nauseous dread. My stomach yields its content.

My head is wracked with migraine pain and fear is strong for madness.

All these confuse and mis'ry bring, but none compare the sadness.

Illness say doctors - Nay!  I know the past is beckoning.

I am not sick from bug or germ.  It is the way of reckoning –

to tell the tale and tell it whole, each unto the other,

until they realize they are we and we are the survivor.