Treasure Island

Patti Masterman


Where The Trees Become Sky


Fly high, bird, where the trees
become sky,
Where blue rain turns to mist,
and every kiss
Ascends toward heavens
blinding bliss.

Fly low, crow, where the bent trees
fight wind,
Where the black ice is staying,
in the nights dark playing,
And nobody knows what the
wind is saying.

Submitted: Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, August 14, 2013

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  • Elena Sandu (8/14/2013 7:24:00 PM)

    This is an amazing poem, to me it spoke million thoughts between the lines. Great depiction, loved the pointing difference: where the kiss is a bliss the birds are not judged by name, size, the color of feathers or.. skin. The trees on this earth are the most chained creatures yet the most peaceful kind and loving. Yes if we lay down under we can feel them as beautiful as the sky. Will put me in harmony with self and everything.. . As for the wind, haha I loved it! Inside of me I do sense it as total freedom. We may not know what it says but we can follow its waves we'd be taught how to dance freed of all chains. Your poem is beautiful, deep and wise one of a kind, thank you for share! (Report) Reply

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