The Living Tree Poem by michael haggertay

There are strands of perfection
We strive to complete as a whole.
Encased in shells of imperfection.
It is a difficult journey.
With a clear view to the misty veiled mountains
We bleed from our hands
Nailed firmly to the wood
Of living trees.
Hanging naked
You see a crippled figure
Whose mind's soars beyond the universe.
Balanced on a tightrope
Cleverly shielded from the breeze
You move to me
And raise my head,
Examine my wounds,
Remove me from the living tree.
A body dead.
And retrace your steps
To solid ground
You lay me down.
For one perfect moment
The embrace is pure
And unfaulted.
For without fear you lay with me
As the living tree now dies
To the eternal.