Free the Trees
“A poem about free will and convention in an arboreal setting.”
If I were the wind,
I would whip the clouds away,
until the trees asked for water
to unwind the skies
and let the rain roar down.
If I was a worm,
I would curl in a secret hole,
explore the brown deep,
and itch my back on the spine
of the rocky earth.
If I were the trees,
I would praise the clouds,
chat with the worms and birds,
and hope the humans
never want to break the root.
for the root is all,
for a tree that is.
Because the plans of a tree
do not exist, unlike
our plans for trees.
but a tree may still hope,
because a will is not hooked
to an intelligent brain,
but it is an automatic flair for life
to live and live more.
So before you dismiss the natural
tendencies of unbroken will,
please be wise to the design of words
like will, freedom, and life,
so all that lives has the will to be awake.
Relax
“It’s 10 pm here, it’s still light but I can’t see the sun anymore, it will probably be dark soon and I think it’s going to rain later, as I can see dark clouds gather at the horizon. Right now it’s still warm though, so I’m enjoying every last minute.
I’m sitting in my backyard in my lawn chair, browsing reddit, listening to the birds tweeting, hearing the church bells toll in the distance, my cat is purring at my feet and I’m drinking a fine whisky. My wrist injury doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m going to leave the bandage on for a little while longer. I just saw a bat fly by.
Life is good.”
The flocking clouds fly leisurely,
like songs of a lost church bell
looking for the beautiful distance.
The purring of my cat warms me,
as much as the drizzling whiskey
calling me to listen to every bird chirping
and follow every shadow of the bats.
This is the time of perfection,
and this is when I breathe it,
and let it slowly exhale
and feel the earth wind slowly
around my lawnchair.
Hope
“OK, here you go, cheer up one who is the only support for his family and has done everything he could (giving up his own ambitions) to upbring them (p.s. he has lost his father).”
When life plays a poor hand,
we must use our own hands
to love and build what we must.
When the lost and weary walk,
we all know a taste of their story.
We all wish for less misery,
but the wishing never helps.
Responsibility always wears people
down to dust.
But it’s the smiles
of chirping children
that saves us all,
from everyday life.