This seed was planted firmly in ground
shallow, infertile through famine. Years
caught their collective breath. Chasing
ideals as the ground was allowed to rot.
Statues were built as this land became
forbidden, poor roots make strong souls.
This tree, with gnarled vicious branches
throwing demented shapes to a blue sky
cared little for childish gestures. Callous
the years were unkind, all cutting remarks
and churlish tantrums. Resentful children
dance with their hands in others pockets.
I climbed where the lumberjacks marked
the red string used for my foot holds and
axe marks for hand holds. I climbed until
I thought that the tree would fall. It didn't.
Petulant children make such sturdy elders
that wouldn't try and catch you if you fell.
I caught my breath at the top of the tree
with nothing but branches as safety nets
and sky to steady my balance. My dreams
tangled in the webbing, threaten a coup.
As the magpies dance rhythmically below
until my voice scatters them like buckshot.