A Willow of a ManA Poem by MachinaWriter What do the willows say... We
lay and watch the heavens -a wishing well of far-away stars. It’s half past eleven, -the world is wondering where we are. Summer nights with fireflies, -fallen wishes floating with the breeze. A place away from hurt and lies, -hidden behind the trees. I tell you about my childhood, -wandering these paths. Far behind my family’s home, -the moments that didn’t last. You spy upon the willow tree, -right behind my home. “Why does it weep?” you ask. It weeps because it’s alone. Somewhere through the trees, -its lover is locked away. Forever lost, in roots of chains, -behind winding lanes it stays. You rise from your grassy bed, -tears in your eyes. “But why?” you said, I shake my head, not wishing you to cry. “No one knows.” I whisper, -my voice soft and low. You turn to the branch, -of this lonely weeping willow. A widow amongst the forest, -its branches singing in the wind, a lonesome, quiet chorus, -longing for a friend. Your hand touches the branch, -a canopy of arms, swaying around its trunk protecting its heart from harm. The green of your dress, -reminds me of the grass, swaying in the wind, saying I’m home at last. “Why doesn’t she cry?” I tell her then a secret, -making her promise to keep it. I deliver notes between the willows. A secret nobody knows. “But how does she write?” I listen and she tells me, -I say, pulling out a book. You turn, you look, -as if trying to hear, all the things it’s saying. Does it whisper your fears? That like the willow, -in age you’ll grow, alone at the end of your years? “She has so much to say, -but she doesn’t know how to.” I give you the pen and paper, -saying you can save her. The writing comes to you. I say nothing as you write, -scribbling its tears scratching as you fight, to make up for the years of my absence. I grew up too fast, and have since missed the missive that was meant for me to have sent. Thinking then, I know -perhaps we are dreamers. But writing that note, -you and I become believers in things the willows say. That love can exist, -even if its far away. We take that precious note, -spoke from the willow’s soul, a missive of poetic secrets written so we can keep it, safe on our forest stroll. Fireflies dance, along that wooded trail and I recall the tale of Hansel and Gretel wondering why they ever left their home. Because all too fast, -the breadcrumbs crumble they never last and then you’re all alone. We come upon the clearing, -of the other willow weeping. But it lays upon its back, -forevermore its sleeping. Its tangled roots, they seek the moon, as if reaching for its lover, saying I’ll see you soon. “He never got her note.” You say, breathless. Your fist shakes, restless. The paper in your hand, crumbled up, alone. I step forward and stumble, over an upturned stone. You drop the note, -and quickly come to my side. You realize the willow tree, -uprooted and alone, far away from home, is truly me. We take the note, -clasped between our hands, and dig a hole beneath the roots of the willow that is a man. We place the letter there, -and bury it deep. So the willow will know -his lover’s words while he sleeps. “What did she say?” I asked, our hands still clasped. You smile when you speak: “I’m never far away, no matter how far it seems I’m with you always, -in your heart and in your dreams.” © 2012 MachinaWriterAuthor's Note
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MachinaWriterSpringfield, ILAboutMy original passion has always been in writing stories. Most of them were fantasy stories, because I always wanted to escape. That's what it was. An escape from the troubles of life. Joining this site.. more..Writing
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