The Moth Diaries, Poetry
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Poem 15- Tree (4)
2005-01-10 19:29:17 (GMT)
Tree- Poem 15
left alone to rust alone
who can save us now?
rusty as the nail that he drove through the hand
hand that held the new born up
up into a life of damnation and flint
flint to the eye that the cave man rode
rode in the gale of pouring rain and never ending blust
blust from a hail stone spat from the passing car
in which sits an old man with a story to tell
turns up the radio to drown out his thoughts
they only speak of betrayal, betrayal, betrayal on him
who can this man be that sits in the car and smokes cigars?
can we ever know when he can never say?
he watches us burn in the eye of the sun
and thinks that this tree of life should end soon.
he left his friends back infront of the guns
and he left his wife at the graveyard,
graveyard where he hopes to lie once more beside her.
betrayed by the ones he loved
by the one he held close to his heart.
never again he thinks to himself
once in a life time is too much for anyone.
and so the story continues, as it inevitably does.
like the shadow racing across the ground-it will always
once in a while the old man will open his war trunk
and look at the medals fate won him.
not his doing, fates doing.
like it was fates doing to send him out into the forest to
gather firewood, when the emeny atttacked.
if he had been there, if he had been there...
would he have died?
would everyone have lived?
if he had been there..
he wouldnt have the betrayed on his shoulders.
why did he go for firewood
why not the man with everything to loose
why not the girl they held hostage
why not the young lad, 17 last june
why not the general so couragous
why the old man that sits in the car smokes cigars
waiting for the tree to end...
© Lucy Griffin Jan05