The War with the Wind

March 26, 2017

There once lived a man, who went by the name of Dan.
Dan lived in the smallest of towns, with little dogs and women’s gowns.
Gowns of amber, amethyst, aureolin, and blues. Each even came with matching pairs of shoes.
But such luxury for his love Dan could not acquire, his monetary positions being quite dire.
Though she heckled him day in and day out. “Why must I wear rags when riches are about?”
Rags indeed is what they bore, dresses of burlap and shoes that made them sore.
In search of these riches such as shoes and wine, Dan took up a job at the local mine.
Where he worked behind a cruel man’s back, the coal they dug for matching his heart, black.
The man cussed and insulted with no humility, but barked orders with sharp agility.
His words cut into Dan much like a knife, adding to the sweat, blood, and strife.
And after hours of ebony walls and drinking beef tea, Dan walked home. Alone as can be.
Until he spotted on a hill above the folk, a lone and tall and strong black oak.
It was gargantuan as it stood upright, discovering it now was quite a sight.
It grew no leaves nor ripe fruit, and the wind through its branches ran mute.
But Dan moved on, sights on home, pockets full of bills and coins glowing chrome.
When he arrived, he was not greeted in good light, but his love started yelling at him in spite.
“Where have you been, all these hours?” She spat. “Working.” He said as he hung up his hat.
“I have earned a great share today my dear.” He assured, “Money to buy gowns, wine, and beer.”
He emptied his pockets on a broken table, “Take a look for yourself, I tell no fable.”
In the glimmer of coins her eyes lit up, like those of a girl who sees a small pup.
“Come and dance with me.” She pleaded so fast. But this happiness and joy were not to last.
Every time Dan brought home his earnings, there was soon too little to quench her yearnings.
Her greed was too large and her heart too small, she soon didn’t love Dan at all.
And went to the store where they sell the prettiest things, diamonds and dresses and golden rings.
She spent it all, every last dime, committing to her husband no more than a crime.
And with a toss of her hair, morals not responding, she seduced the mayor into sinful bonding.
Leaving poor Dan with nothing but dirt, when he found out he was full of hurt.
“What am I to do but die?” Dan asked himself reliving the lie.
So again, Dan visited the old oak tree, on top of the hill where no one could see.
On his arm, he had a length of rope, within his heart, he had lost all hope.
Climbing the tree his mind set on death, a strong sadness was pungent in his breath.
This aroma of sadness woke the old tree, “Tell me stranger, why do you climb on me?”
Dan was startled by the response of the oak, as he climbed the branches that prod and poke.
“My wife has left me with nothing but grief.” Replied Dan, keeping his response brief.
The tree thought hard and thought long, “May I tell you a story?” It replied as he climbed along.
“I don’t see why not.” Dan replied between tears. Finding it strange how even death leers.
“I once was a small scrawny sapling.” The tree began its tale. “I bent underneath every gale.”
“The wind would push me and bend me until I’d snap, Then I’d heal from the strong deathtrap.”
“But every time I’d heal I’d grow much stronger, I grew thicker, my branches became longer.”
“The wind would continue to push and break, but I left a larger and larger shadow in my wake.”
“You see, I may have been weak when I was small, but I am strong now as I am tall.”
“It was the war with the wind that has made me strong, to believe otherwise would be wrong.”
“You may be hurt and see no future with grief, but there are new beginnings for every lost leaf.”
Dan thought about what the tree had said, but his head was full of hate, hung on a weak thread.
He tied the rope around his thin throat, and tied it to the thickest branch, to death he was devote.
Then Dan jumped, and his life flashed before his eyes, he kept his mouth shut to hide any cries.
As strong as that branch was and as burly as it was built, thousands of years it would take to wilt.
However, Dan was full of surprise, to find himself on the ground in front of a beautiful sunrise.
He glanced up to were he had tied his death knot, and found that the thick branch was full of rot.
It had snapped underneath the man’s falling weight, leaving him alive with an unsealed fate.
“You still have air in your lungs and a life to be found. Don’t throw it away due to grief abound.”
Dan heard the tree whisper to him gently, and Dan started off towards town intently.
There once lived a man, who went by the name of Dan.
Who learned that for every leaf that is torn, a new beginning is gorgeously born.

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