Enrooted in Me

I wrote this poem about selfishness and the vile grip it all too often has on me. The ending, although hopeful and seemingly concrete, is not so. Concrete, anyway. I try and fall...but I press on

It was just a seed sown in my heart

In that garden where vibrance grew

It sprang from the soil,

as innocent as a thought of you

But soon after, the greenery decayed

Taken by the hands of blight

And the fruits that defined me

became derelict and died

And then passed time,

doling out its seasons

Wherein the sapling, the foreigner,

grew sturdy and seamless

Summer gave way to winter

The snow flurried and piled

And when the garden stopped singing,

That sapling only smiled

When all was white and cold

Paled by frosty moonlight

That sapling became a tree,

reaching for the stars he spied

Then tall became towering

His boughs, hulking and vast

He blotted out the stars

and what little light I had

- - - -

Spring

The snows melt and recede

Frigidity leaves

And the birds return to sing

Resplendent is the season

Tranquil is the air

And all around that monstrous tree,

the soil is dead and bare

His branches are full of emerald leaves,

glistening in the sun and soft rain

He stretches toward the heavens,

bowing to naught but his own name

He seems harmless enough,

just a tree in a spacious meadow

But his bark is black and slimy 

and his shadow consumes the garden below

The earth seems infected,

germinating seeds that bleed

Spilling their scarlet into the dirt

Soggy soil that weeps for me

But I care not for these portents

as I knot a rope to a low branch

And fashion a swing from a tire

To pendulum in the spring's dance

- - - -

Summer

So succulent and sultry

The midnight's, balmy

A sky wide with wonder

And there under the cloudless blue,

a pallor rich in its depth,

my tree stood and waited

for a dawn of grievous red

As the birds chittered and soared above

and the forests filled their vitality,

I bent and inspected the growth of each seed

and was disheartened by their lack of charity

Most had failed to break the surface,

and those that had were sad and sore

The vine of love, the stalk of patience-

rapidly decaying to a vacant mourn

The dirt felt sick, polluted

Offering up a rancid stench

I held a fistful to the wind

and it burned within my clench

It ate at my flesh like leprosy,

like a clutch of writhing wasps,

leaving my palm red and blistered

and my garden devoid of crops

Without plants to attend,

I reclined in my swing

And pendulumed beneath the tree,

same as I had in the spring

- - - -

Autumn

Cooling winds and coloring leaves

Reds and yellows and pinks paint these

A beauty somehow solemn

Now embraced by a pleasant wind,

its fingers combing my beard,

I gaze upon the trunk of the tree

and feel a disturbance drawing near

A rustle, perhaps it was,

that of a slithering serpent,

but a sound touched my ears

of something vile and vermin

I sniffed at the air

and wondered eyes across the meadow,

but no form swelled from the trees,

no beast to loom in the moonglow

Nothing, save the tree,

looming high above me

His branches screening the sky

and seeming to blacken all that was lovely

In the arms of autumnal breeze, 

beneath a sky shaded with twilight,

that rustling draws ever nearer,

bringing my hackles to rise

There is something in the gloom,

something beyond my sight,

approaching with a furtive creep

as the wind about me sighs

I know I should flee, 

but nature begs me to stay

To watch the villain coalesce

from the shadows that silently lay

And while I'm bound to indecision,

rough fingers grasp my ankles

Fearsome and inexorable,

they leave my escape in shambles

I cast downward my eyes,

stretched wide in terror,

to behold a gnarled root

now twining up my femur

And all around me

they burst from the soil

Roots like worms,

they crawl and coil

I scream into the breeze,

the note strangled by the calm

Dense and unnatural

is this night of sickened psalm

And as if his roots weren't enough-

their horror, too small-

he harried me further

by adding glare to his gall

A pair of eyes unfolded in the bark,

their abhorrence running deep

I could not rip away my stare

from the poison that passed to me

The rustling then raised its voice,

cacophonous in the dark,

as his animated roots

enmeshed the meadow in bark

It was then, alone in the gloom,

as reaching roots encoiled by throat,

that an axe of white flame

filled my hand with hope

'By My Strength' was etched on the blade

A head, broad and edged with razor

Aggressive in its purpose-

hungry is the cleaver

With resolve, I grasp its shaft

Now I'm engulfed in white fire

'By My Strength' is the message given,

and by His strength will I conquer

Raising my voice to a shout in moonglow,

I let loose a fury of holy endeavor

Hacking at the roots that strangle

Empowered by my God, I can swing forever

I fear no weariness or discouraging word,

for there is nothing that can slay His will

I will swing and sever until that final breath,

toppling the beast that pollutes me with filth

White flames scald the black of night,

a deflagration from the Fire within

Hacking through these selfish roots,

I hear a strident voice against the wind

It's the tree, importuning mercy,

but I am obliged to give it none

I will watch it fall with stony eyes,

backlit by a dawning sun

And there it will lay,

in its thunderous grave

Rotting through the seasons,

consumed by decay

The axe that I strive to be,

it's words I ardently keep,

has dismantled this selfishness

enrooted in me

Author's Note

thank you so much for sticking through its longevity! I sincerely hope that you all have enjoyed the ride

Reviews

[Karmee]

This is really good, you had it all in there, which is wonderful and creative.

[Dan Cowan]

thanks! I appreciate you sticking it through until the end