hang a tree.

Flooded

the daughter

a d

ead

flower seized

by the moon-Moses

light in the stars

a seed wasted

as a poet hangs a tree

was it me I don’t know

a syntax clouding

a mind, holding

in my arms, dancing

if jokers grin.

© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.



Categories: Poetry

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

6 replies

  1. A wasted seed,
    no waste indeed.

    The tree won’t want to hang,
    what it helped to become life – I know it – dang…

    And a flower shall live and live on
    forever more without the moons darkened light.

    But also with it, may it live and shine all bright.

    Not wasted, never where is love is waste.
    How sweet the poisons bitter taste.

    If I were the tree, I would rather break my arm,
    would rather break my hundred year old branch,
    before I see this poet hang.

    Would rather make the poet stumble over her own feet,
    until her arms and mine would meet.

    A tree and a cat,
    a bird and a flower,
    a bee and a leaf.

    The tree had seen too many hanging down.
    Had felt too many heavy hearts, others crown.
    Would break all branches, let them down.
    To give them back, their rightful crown.

    💕💜

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Can’t believe how talented you are. 💎

    Liked by 1 person

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