Saturday, January 23, 2016
Going To The Wooden Tree
Going where the path divides creates blessing,
Going is the sin of the believing women and folk,
Forcing them will divide them as a flock of sheep
Grazing in the meadows, dispersing after the fox
Has arrived and conquered, leaving no trace.
Flesh upon flesh divides the trunk of the tree,
Branches swallow the illness of the wooden tree.
Little branches are inferior like the infant's humanity,
Lies are written in so many words to the day
That dies after the retaliation by the people.
The path meanders due to a godly response,
Death shakes as it obliterates, feeding a frenzy of sight,
This time we stake the heart so that machines
Create their folk again, in this industrial revolution,
And the emergence of the space age.
Topic(s) of this poem: tree