The trees sway with the history that weighs down upon them.
Yet.. they bear up, mute, strong; cradling the ancient sister with the strength of their togetherness.. Knowing, perhaps, that one day they too will topple, into the arms of their successors, to be cradled for a gentle return to earth.
I think too much, they say.
Turning golden sunsets into nightmares of dismay.
Wanting more than given. Giving more than asked.
Asking for a sunrise from the dreams of nights long past.
I think too much, they say.
Seeing truth where innuendo wants to hide.
Dreaming in my waking. Waking in my dreams.
Longing for an honesty where all is as it seems.
I think too much, they say.
The thoughts that flood my head cannot be dammed.
Twisting words I hear. Hearing words not said.
So, living life in silence, I save others from my head.
And yet
the easy resignation lies unopened,
perched upon a tendril,
teasing me with its simplicity.
I do not understand my will to live -
nor my fear of living.
They share the same house:
this shack(le) of dualism.
And yet they never speak,
only glare at each other
across the arbor of my mind vine.
Only winter will kill them, I think.
And so I wait, wondering which one
will make the first move, wondering
if either will.
Knowing it is only summer
here in my body.
Knowing I have a long, wary wait ahead
before the fruit is ripe.
