Poetry

Whistle Through the Trees

Smokey Tree (1)

As the sun rises in the east and the wind whistles through the trees; I wander, searching aimlessly, wanting to be free.

Branches entangle my clothing, capturing me in its snare; I swipe and tear, hoping to God my luck not be fair.

The road I left behind was burnt; the houses were empty; I set the fire; I looted the plenty.

If this were to be my fate, may it be true; For one more second was one more too soon.

Then out stepped a lady, dressed splendidly in white; At first I was scared, then I caught a glimpse of the bright.

She took my hands, and snapped the thorns; Saying, “Come with me, I’ll show you more.”

My foot found its footing, my eyes were set straight; Knowing at long last, change found fate.

As the sun sets in the west and the wind whistles through the trees; I wander with purpose; I am now set free.

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