The Tree
A little about this poem:
Well, I wrote this poem in grade nine for a poetry assignment.
It's not one of my favorites that I've done, but I'd like to
have some of my poetry on this site, so I'm including it.
Tall and imposing with his dillusions of glory,
He spat his leaves in my face,
Glaring at me through his strife,
So beautiful, yet so tortured,
As the chill that is winter set in.
The wind played with high branches,
Tossing them about as a child might a ball.
Arrogant to the last was he,
Even as the bolt of lightening shot towards him,
Hurled from the hand of Zeus himself,
As the chill that is winter set in.
Into his woeful branches it crashed.
He shrieked as it hit,
A scream such as never has been duplicated.
And he split down the middle,
The bark that is flesh
Torn into bits, his glory no more,
As the chill that is winter set in.
) 1997
copyright 1997, Jadis Darkmore