I am that tree in the forest.
Falling onto another for so long.
Yet the tree I leaned on has rotted,
itself falling down and gravity
exerts its force upon my soul.
A constant free fall neverending.
You used to be my tree mom.
Now that you are gone, I am either
in constant fall, trying to catch
myself, with branches weak, or
laying on the cold ground,
unable to fend for myself.

I visited your grave today.
Falling silent, I grappled with words
already said many times, you
heard them already, but I couldn't say them.
I figured my plans to be good,
after finally talking to you.
Maybe not smart, but something productive,
to jumpstart my soul. Bring back
hands for me to catch my fall, or,
for the power to pick mysef up,
figure out what my life is to be made of,
and make a difference.

04/19/2006

Author's Note: *Archive

Posted on 05/16/2007
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