Bent Words

Bent Words

October 09, 2006

Down the road just a ways
Looking up you can see
The anguish that lies
With the wind through the trees

The frost has not formed
Yet the cold seems to cling
Draped heavily on shoulders
Where birds once would sing

The limp look of the boughs
The dark anger of shade
Life leaking like misery
Through fingers of rage

The leaves lock out sun
Unforgiving their grip
And we’ll just sit silent
Closed eyes and tight-lipped

Even the grandest of oaks
Has not one word to say
Though I have been begging
Begging the branches to sway

Here stands the story of sorrow
Deeply rooted in dirt and in shame
Not even the trees are forgiving
Not even the wind seems the same…

Written at 8:14 p.m.