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The Family Tree

I counted the rings on the keeper of the woods
Mighty he once stood
Fallen now he rests

As the rings go by
The story of a dry season can be told
Or a lighting strike on a stormy summer night

Withstanding all
And all he did withstand
Until…
Until the waters trickled in

Slowly at first…
Actually always slowly
But consistent the growing mire did make its stay
Too much to drink
For even one as mighty as he
His foundation became soft
And slowly he began to drown
And with each lonely new day
He rotted more and more

Slowly at first…
Actually always slowly
But consistent he did rot from the inside out
As the emptiness overtook him
No longer could he go on
So with a final moaning gasp
And a creaking scream
He gave up the ghost…

And the last of his seeds shook from his branches
And some drifted onto the rocks
And some to fertile ground
And some just drifted away

END
© 2006 Christian Cloud Abraham

Posted on January 22, 2006 in
Emotion: Subjection, Type: Poetry/Prose