Wooden Mirror

May 7, 2008
By
Wooden mirror

Sliver your bark until you are bare,
Bare enough to feel the autumn’s air.
Strip down the woodened armor,
For the season is young.

Beauty must be embraced
By most cunning of eyes, so see,
What’s inside the guarded tree.

Scabbed egoism of growing years,
Such benevolence from neighboring peers.
As the little flower, needing shade.
Looking upwards for such protection—
Until the sun shallst fade.

Strip you tree, of all pride,
For you are an accident of the night,
No more than the flower you shelter,
Or the seed whichst planted you.

You respond:
I am an accident but you are a mere mistake.
For I am the one the beauty takes,
And you question me?
You shallest not see in the dark,
Why it is I hold my bark…
So egotistically.

"This will certify that the above work is completely original." Jamie Hughes





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