I cut down the Oak
I planted for you.

Many were the birds that called it home
as it grew strong and tall.
It was a sight to rival your beauty.

It died when you left.
The birds moved out,
the branches drooped under the weight
of loneliness.
I could not bear to uproot it,
for the hope that you might return
and save us,
but the tree begged to be
released from its pain.

So I swung.

Each hit killed a memory,
a dream,
a promise unfulfilled.
The Oak fell with a sigh of
“Thank you”.

I fired the wood
in the hearth that should have been ours.
The stench of burning hope
clogs my nostrils.
The fire is cold, uncaring.
It burns because it knows
no other way.

Soon, it too will die.


2 thoughts on “Oak

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s