The Tree
Ouyang Yu
for no reason at all
even when there is not the slightest stir of the woman wind
he’ll get angry
he is darker
than the night
he listens for the last crickets
he seems to be thinking
all the time
his leaves but a mass of insolent words or winds
he never sings
that’s for sure
when he does his voice cracks
the sky
is the place he stands to reach
although rooted in hell
his heart
if there’s any
refuses to be praised
but travels
beyond himself
to other dreams
he hates when there is love
he loves when there is hate
he neither loves or hates
he is a tree
great poem
ReplyDeleteReminds me of Sarah's Moroheus character!
ReplyDelete