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Pulp



As dayless as my eyes

This shatter seams

No coming

No came

Less

A season's storm

Breaking my branches

Threatening my core

I have seen too many stumps upon this forest's floor

To become but a memory of a tree

Though I see more than leaves beneath me

After this season's storm

Years have caused me to no longer bend

Straight I stand

Now I may only look to my fallen hands

There is no mend in this

Only more space to grow  

I branch out in many more spaces

My reach almost threatening the sky

Though these parts of me I see

Could brave no more

The death of a time

There is no funeral in this

No reflection of somber whys

Just my passing stare

Wear

Be that what it is

The ache lingers there

Only new rain will ease it in compare

The speckled light between my branches

Dances upon the forest floor

As it has and will it glistens

Light's reflection in an invisible mirror

Reflecting now on pieces of once self

As if on the constant grasses

Remains still are

As the pulp which forms this paper

Comes from more than fallen branches

I know the reason for those stumps

And I am honored that they are there

For without my fallen form

Where would I eye my stare

My wear has been but that

My eyed shatter

My seams