Trees of Life

i stand on the edge of a cliff
with the trees i have grown
to depend on
protecting me from the wind
and the waves
of life.
my trees are dying
wasting away from a
disease
that was created within
the trees i had grown
to depend on.
i dig in my roots
and prepare to stand
alone
as i was grown to stand
who needs other trees
to depend on?
i fight to keep the trees
i had grown
to depend on
alive.
i fight to stop depending on
the trees i had grown
to depend on.
i can stand alone
depending on no one
and still be surrounded
by other trees.
no matter how hard the wind hits
no matter how salty the waves become
if i stand alone
i will fall
of my own sins.
i will fall
knowing that the fall is coming
and not caught unawares
in the limbs of another falling tree.




I really hate the fact that I have to hurt in order to write poetry. That I have to have suffered some kind of loss for it to bubble out of my fingers. I have got to figure out how to rewire my poetry impulse to things of joy, to the mundane daily things of life, as well to instances of hurt.