poetry

I was stuck in a tree,
A sturdy, strong beautiful tree.
I had climbed all the way up to the top,
not knowing I ever could.
It was comfortable and felt like home.
The tree liked me, and I liked the tree.
However, the way down was unknown.
I had a choice:
Stay in the tree
or prance to branches
in other neighboring trees.

However, another option was there.
A rope, a rope to slide
or climb down to the floor.
The tree told me the rope was there,
but I couldn’t see where it was.
It told me I could take the rope down,
but neglected to show me where it hung from.
No way out.
The tree could have let me go.
The tree failed to show me it could
by not showing me the way to the rope.

Not everything is so obvious…

So in the tree I stayed, sitting
my spine against the trunk,
feeling its heart beat resonate with mine.

Then, I saw another tree close by
with gorgeous flower buds blossoming,
begging me to sniff.

So, at night while the forest slumbered,
I snuck away to the pretty branches to smell the blossoms,
to hear their whispers,
noticing the thorns but ignoring them anyway.

I stayed perhaps a bit too long
because you knew by morning where I had gone.
And the tree tossed me away,
tumbling and crashing into its own branches
all the way down.

Empty, washed away,
wishing I was back
at the top of the tree again.

At least up there
I could breathe.

So I curled up in the shade of the pretty blossom tree,
only to find it barren below, with no close branches to get to the top,
leaving the flowers pretty, protected and out of reach.

I didn’t want to climb that tree anyway–
I missed my strong, comfy tree.
I could live without the flowers,
but I couldn’t live without those solid branches
I didn’t realize I needed
until I was forced out of them.

Many rains passed, and
slowly the pain of the fall fell away.
The flowers fell off the tree and I
saw the thorns scatter–seeing them for what they were,
clawing at my attention though providing
little more than beauty.
The flowers died at my feet
by the end of the day.
The thorns made it hard to walk away,
though I knew I must.
Through careful steps, I trekked the forest,
not knowing which way was out.

But I kept coming back to that big tree
I used to sit on top of,
glancing up longingly at its bark.

After coming back several times,
the tree seemed to open its branches to me again.

There was a way up.
I could see the light
even if branches blocked the sky.
I wanted to fly.

Then… Strike. Set. Match.

The tree caught flame,
burning to a crisp before my eyes
wish ashes scattering the ground.

And before I knew what happened,
a new tree grew in its place,
drawing all the soot and ashes
from the former tree
into its seed–
showing even more promise
than the tree that used to stand there.

The flowers tried to get me to stay on the ground,
to sing to them so they wouldn’t get lonely.
But I remembered the thorns
I’d ignored in the beginning…
Now I stand facing the new tree,
seeing how glorious it could be.
But I’m not climbing it yet…

I knew I had to leave the forest before I could go up to those branches again,
branches that I thought I would know,
but in actuality, I really don’t.

They aren’t the same branches,
but new branches, begging to be explored.
Like a hot land with pointed arrows
guiding the way to a loving spring.

I’m not exploring that tree right now,
though I see it extending skyward
from where I am.

Through meandering the woods,
I found a broad comforting oak to settle beneath for now.
It’s nice, shady and comforting–
protecting me with its green leaves–
allowing me to rest and play beneath it freely.

And somewhere out in the forest,
that new tree is growing, perhaps leaning on other limber
trees and roots to grow itself tall and strong.
Like its predecessor, but not.

It’s not in a rush, and neither am I.

Who knows if I will return to the Phoenix tree,
but I know that it’s always there.
If I climb it, I know things will be different.
It’s a different tree,
with different branches and a different feel.
With hand and foot holds,
and a clear rope in plain sight,
just in case.
The sky will look clearer,
the birds sing ringing high above the branches.

And from there, the sky’s the limit.

Everything will look beautiful again.

And best of all,
if I do return to the tree to climb up its mighty trunk…
I won’t be stuck up in its canopy,
like I thought I was,
but I will be enjoying it
more fully than before.

Next time I’ll be ready for it,
and the tree steady for me.
Admiring how much it grew,
even with ashes as its base.

Sometimes things have to burn
before something better can grow.

Written May 12, 2016