PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am a weeping willow
I have witnessed centuries of turmoil
It comes and goes like the lovers beneath my shade
I remember, the white man as a devil
the religious chants of servant girls

I overshadow the grave of a man who came to paint me
His hands were of feathers and other bird-like features
I feel his veins wrap around my roots when he is sad

And up above, the clouds come in shapes that I have never dreamed
I think of what I have lost over time,
the memories that still shake me
The tips of my fingers touch the water to cry
because I will live a very long life, and my heart will crack and burn and
seize, one quiet night in my bed

My arms make music in the night
There is no other way to cope with the
things that I have seen.