Murder
Yesterday I walked down the road, to see if I could find the tree we planted, but it was not there, instead in its place a tall wooden fence. The tree was murdered, her fruits left for the birds, and in its place came a mighty fence, its heart plastered smack at the front. I walked by in a hurry, lest I got down and mourned, and I went up the hill. I climbed by the meadow that once was, and then to the place that the birds once nested, a barren patch of land. They had cut down the young flowers, and in their place stood demeaning posts. I got up the hill and searched for a place to sit. There was no grass like there had always been. There were no willows like they once were, and there was no life like there once was. Death and devastation was what grew there. Pain and desolation was what we left behind. When last were we under the tree? Oh, the day we fought, and I believed you would return the next day, or the day after, maybe the day after the day after, but you did not return and deep inside I knew that you had moved on already. So with my heart low and my eyes wet, I went downhill, but there was fun no more. You were not there to tease me as I went down the road. I tried to blow away at the dandelions, but before me they left in a huff. I tried to lift my hands to take in the breeze but with it came a stench of smoke from dead leaves and desecrated flowers. I tried to listen to the birds sing, but I could not hear them above the sound of the murderous chainsaws. There was murder all over, and it filled the crevices where love once flowed. It filled the corners of the forest, the hearts of the flowers, the glittering body of the stream, and the corners of our hearts. I went to find love, but there was none in the air. I went to find peace, but all I met was commotion. I wanted to get intimate with nature, to caress and hug the memories that made me blush, made me shiver, made me shudder, but no. There were no memories to find. There were only skeletons of a time long forgotten, a period long lost. Long after I had wandered the jungle, I found a withered apple tree, and I sat beneath, down on the ground. I tried to think thoughts of you and me, both happy and sad, nostalgic and fond but it made me sadder than I was. I cried that day, yes I did. I cried for the voice that died in the wind. I cried for the past I sacrificed. Sorrow took the place of murder, and fear struck my heart, fear of the past we left behind, and fear of the future that lay ahead.
Yesterday I walked down the road, to see if I could find the tree we planted, but it was not there, instead in its place a tall wooden fence. The tree was murdered, her fruits left for the birds, and in its place came a mighty fence, its heart plastered smack at the front. I walked by in a hurry, lest I got down and mourned, and I went up the hill. I climbed by the meadow that once was, and then to the place that the birds once nested, a barren patch of land. They had cut down the young flowers, and in their place stood demeaning posts. I got up the hill and searched for a place to sit. There was no grass like there had always been. There were no willows like they once were, and there was no life like there once was. Death and devastation was what grew there. Pain and desolation was what we left behind. When last were we under the tree? Oh, the day we fought, and I believed you would return the next day, or the day after, maybe the day after the day after, but you did not return and deep inside I knew that you had moved on already. So with my heart low and my eyes wet, I went downhill, but there was fun no more. You were not there to tease me as I went down the road. I tried to blow away at the dandelions, but before me they left in a huff. I tried to lift my hands to take in the breeze but with it came a stench of smoke from dead leaves and desecrated flowers. I tried to listen to the birds sing, but I could not hear them above the sound of the murderous chainsaws. There was murder all over, and it filled the crevices where love once flowed. It filled the corners of the forest, the hearts of the flowers, the glittering body of the stream, and the corners of our hearts. I went to find love, but there was none in the air. I went to find peace, but all I met was commotion. I wanted to get intimate with nature, to caress and hug the memories that made me blush, made me shiver, made me shudder, but no. There were no memories to find. There were only skeletons of a time long forgotten, a period long lost. Long after I had wandered the jungle, I found a withered apple tree, and I sat beneath, down on the ground. I tried to think thoughts of you and me, both happy and sad, nostalgic and fond but it made me sadder than I was. I cried that day, yes I did. I cried for the voice that died in the wind. I cried for the past I sacrificed. Sorrow took the place of murder, and fear struck my heart, fear of the past we left behind, and fear of the future that lay ahead.
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