The Break of the Branch

I sat on an oak tree twice removed from its home

Charred and carved by ghosts of charlatans past

And watched dawn awaken.

Deer in meadows of far away lands grazed on nature’s purity

While I sat on that branch and gazed at nurtured heresies

And thought about the paradoxical simplicities we crave.

Wind whirred and broke my thought as it severed my connection

with the twice removed oak.

I fell as a shard of that wise old tree

And felt a snap as I hit the ground.

My leg felt wet, it was thicker than sweat

Midnight oozed down my thigh

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my pen,

My palms blackened by ink,

I mourned it as it died

And cursed the wind for splitting my pen

Yin and Yang

Good and Evil

History was to repeat itself again

Unless I gave it the break of life

And made amends with the wind.

I sculpted my pen back to life

And again ink filled its veins

It took my hand to an empty page and wrote:

Just because we fall and we bleed,

It doesn’t mean we’re dead

Whatever’s in your head,

My friend,

Let it make art with my ink.

 

 


Photographer: Leandro De Carvalho

 


Join me in celebrating the written word at The Poet’s Point. This is a new page I’m starting in efforts to form a community in which artists can share their work, get feedback, and inspire others. It’s a perfect place to overcome writer’s block, share your thoughts, test new content, gain an audience, and meet artists from around the world.thebreakofthebranchtext

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