This twisted mass of misconceptions:is it root?
or is it tree?
Is it something that feeds me,
that stretches through
the ground of being
and gathers up the nutrients
that keep the tortured ego flourishing;
something I need
to keep battering my soul against to grow?
Or could it be
that these are simply branches,
foolish digressions from my core;
thoughts I could lop off,
prune with impunity?
I guess I'll have to take a closer look!
Ah: No surprise --
it seems to be out of focus...
* * *
2 comments:
We have in our yard one of the most gnarly bushes I've ever seen. My husband just loves it. Sometimes I see poetry in it, until it starts to climb the side of the house. Nothing, even the severest of trimmings, has any effect on its ability to restore itself and conquer. It's like a bunch of twisted walking sticks.
I really like how you relate the poem to your musings today.
This tree portrait reminds me of an "old west movie" - I don't know why but it's the first thing that came to my mind.........
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