Emancipation Planz

** From My Tree

Today …
Tripping over midnight,
Creation stopped.

One day …
time will catch up with my sadness.
Drops will dissipate to sediments in sand.
Bottled well, sage
instinctively preserves antiquities.

You say …
You don’t dream,
yet I have spare memories to give away
they sink in fuchsia clouds
falling.

Rebirth accelerates,
velocity collides with consolation.

It should have been a syzygy,
the awe of infinitesimal.

Instead, it was eclipsed by a storm
delayed on time lines tracked by
trains in lieu of emergency services.

My poem espouses that separation
is weighted by carriages of integrity,
purpose and health
doused by the fuel of rhetoric.

Tomorrow …
I branch out at dendrochronology
and my perpetual sadness
will continue to stifle my growth.

Perhaps a lantern,
placed strategically
will keep me sane
upright
and wedged between
the lowest branch
and its own shadow's play.

Only the moon would,
in the end of ends
be sure,
be so bloomin’ sure.


(for my most precious medicinal Herb,
... I infuse daily)

Poem Submitted: Friday, March 12, 2010
Poem Edited: Friday, March 12, 2010

Add this poem to MyPoemList

Comments about ** From My Tree by Emancipation Planz

This member does not wish to get comments on his/her poem(s).
  • Allen StebleAllen Steble (5/17/2013 9:23:00 PM)

    Excellent poem Emancipation, I enjoyed the vivid imagery in the poem, thnx for sharing.

    Report Reply
    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Gregory Collins (12/13/2012 9:33:00 PM)

    Your voice is poet half poet, perhaps extra poet, very, very meaningful. Dance from the milky way not to mention the leaves to rake up. Shine Like a brilliant square sun, being poor of night and light, of the wet and windy, and the night after night I want pieces around those echoes.

    Report Reply
    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?