The only thing they ever noticed about me
the only time they’d ever really see
through pickled fancies of evermore
beneath charred hearts and embers of grief
And greed were the unforgiving streams brine
that trickled out of the soul’s goblet
ever so menacingly
Racing beneath the infinite blue
toward a sanctuary
drooping into the khor, yet standing tall.
Pensile streams of wincey
attentive to my grievances
aniconic friends, heavenly storytellers
The willow shielded me
from a minatory noon
from the masquerading masses
she tells to me in a monotone drawl
the thanatography of our demeanour.
She never meant it to frighten me
only to caution.
And for a score, this was routine
Her viridescent leaves flailed
in the north breeze, howbeit
she directed it all to me.
The weather-beaten willow
shielded me from days of deluge
through tacent mornings and
bustling noons
She neither felt, nor did I
that her affections was unrequited
A forenoon I returned, and
no more was she
scattered round the khor
empty leaves, a dead breeze
the north wind had left
superficially deft
the masquerading mobs made their way
past her desecrated stump
even when her glory dissipated
she offered me a place to sit
Perchance I’d have done more
and saved the willow tree
now I’ll never get to tell her
how much she meant to me
