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March 21, 2002


My life is a tree.
The ground is my green carpet,
comfort to my bleeding feet.
The sky is my window,
wonder to my questioning eyes.
The tree is my quest-
adventure for the taking.

My life is a tree.
Reach the sky,
A bit of sun to warm my hands.
A cup of stars to quench my thirst.
Who needs a carpet?
To find the world in a sensuous flower,
a cracker box,
or a rainbow prism.
The forbidden fruit of Eden,
the lungs of the earth.
Life is my sweet apple.
Life is my sour plum.
Both; from my tree.

My life is a tree.
My tree stretches for
miles above.
And behind.
Sky-
blue with tears.
Violet with light.
My tree.
Stairway to the crystal heavens.
Stairway to a hole of ice.

My life is a tree.
I climb.
I must climb,
or forget why.
Forget to try.

My life is a tree.
Realizations.
Where is my meadow to run?
Where is my carpet of green?
“Down below, down below”, says the voices unseen.
Voices?
Saying to climb,
Jump!
Be careful!
Come on. It’s okay.
Who to listen to?
Myself…
Or them?

My life is a tree.
I stand-alone.
A field of golden grain.
Simple sweetness.
There is my tree.
In the heart of my security.
Impending.
Oh, the conflict,
to climb?
To forget my childhood?
Welcome the world of the sky,
world of stars.
A land of complicity.

Life is a tree.
The ground is a green carpet
Comfort to bleeding feet.
The sky is a window,
wonder to questioning eyes.
The tree is a quest.
Adventure for the taking.
But…
where is my meadow to run free?