Hammer in hand

January 9, 2008
By Leanne Korta, Petersburg, MI

A life lived is not lived.
Honesty, you have nothing here.
Betrayal is silent.
It hides in the woods,
Waiting for you to come play.
I hold her hand and run through.
Separated somewhere but I can't remember where.
My life I've lived has not been lived.
I'll talk with him for hours
Of life and secrets, some will never leave the room,
Others will be lost to the trees.
I can't say when I lost him though,
For a day is just another page in this age-long book.
I lost it all without caring.
I take it all in without being full.
Nothing to satisfy the hunger of life.
And the woodsmen said with an axe in hand,
"I'll give it all back if you can mend."
He swung with his axe but nothing appeared.
"Cherish," He said.
"A life lived is not lived,
If you don't take it all in.
Live it free with no walls
And trust in those who once loved you so."
The axe was swung and I saw it all.
Honesty appeared in the distant field.
I lost my best friends
To the trees of the woods.
I changed that day in a way I can't explain.
I kept those leaves,
And seeds of laughter and love.
I took it all in, as the woodsmen once said.
I did it all hammer in hand.
No wall will stop the farmer of Land.
Leaves on the trees are now to Cherish.
The leaves fall and I rake them up.
Not to burn but to preserve.
"The forest is yours my sweet son,"
The voice of a father said from the grave.
I lied down besides him with a blanket of green.
I smiled with the Sun and the Trees.
Because I kept the leaves of Cherish,
My children and my Husband.
I'll lay here now knowing,
I've lived my life.

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