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I never once stopped
To see the leaves—
The ones that voluntarily let go
Of the arms of their safe-home
To drift aimlessly
In the wind
Until now.
Staggering into the backyard—
A vaguely familiar place,
I gaze at the tree house
Of my youth.
It was once the guarded fortress—
The watcher in the woods
That harbored the dawn of dreams
And dusk of despair.
For a time, I called it home.
And when he drank
And she wept,
I made a pact in that place—
That kingdom by the creek
To break the family mold
With the dreams
Only a child can dream.
Yet now,
With twenty years been and gone,
I hardly recognize my old friend.
Or myself.
But it still stands—
The faded beacon of hope
Longing for his old friend
To give him life again.
It still stands.
Perhaps it’s not a leaf’s journey
That ever truly matters.
It’s not its flight
Or destination.
It’s about
The brief glimpse of Heaven
Just before letting go.
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This is a beautifully written poem. The tree house of youth can be a lasting memory.
Time spent there can be so important to a child. Nice metaphors. hbw
Thank You!
Thank you for the kind and encouraging feedback! I've always felt a strange connection to this poem. I'm certainly not trying to boast or brag, but there's always been something about this poem that seemed to special to me. Perhaps it's the fact that I see this poem as a direct reflection of my life. Regardless, it's inspiring to hear such kind words! Thanks again!