Epitome of beauty

November 18, 2010
By mvwaslike SILVER, Smithtown, New York
mvwaslike SILVER, Smithtown, New York
5 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
& ultimately, he's going to find out: how you
chew, how you sip, how you hum, how you dance,
how you smell at every point in the day. The fact that
most of your friends are shallow. That you hate
sitting in an aisle seat, how you sometimes can't
seem to listen, how you get hyper when you travel,
how certain games or shows make you really happy,
how you get cranky because you're too stupid to
remember to sleep, how you don't like the way you look
in most of your pictures, how you can't get off the
phone when it's late, because you don't want to sound
like you care, how you have no ability to save receipts.
He's going to know all of it; everything about you,
he's going to know. & he's still going to love you.

Its legs drove into the center
Like a collision of a place wreck,
Soaring above the ocean
The trunk was dark,
Fulfilled with green moss
As if it were the soggy,
leftover relish on the side of the jar

You could almost see through the bark,
For it was so old
The wilted bits peeled
One by one
As the wind flew by
Ever so gently.
It’d flake off into the air,
And swiftly sway
Back and fourth
Back and fourth,
Decreasing in height
Like the zig zags on my map

You could see the damaged spots
Of sunlight
That tore its wood apart
And burned
Inside and out,
On hot summer days…

There were stains of uneven camouflage
Leaves stuck to brittle twigs
Like dry Elmer’s glue
Its arms part out thrusting branches,
A roof for the decay below

The clouds
Slept among each wing,
Holding the creatures that crawled atop
Its apologetic fingers
Ceased after its limit,
Hiding the deterioration beneath

Although it was filthy,
The forest squalid birch was
Home too many…
They’d all lay silent,
Hearing the noises of air jolts,
Like a small, delicate whistle.
It was the epitome of beauty,
All the trees surrounded it.
Center spotlight,
As if it was king of the forest…

It longed to have the width of twigs,
And the texture of there branches,
They were so fine,

I stood there,
My hand wrapped in gauze
And my bonnet,
Drooping among my hair…
Admiring earths oldest

I stood there,
Gazing at its feathery branches.
Lying there alone for
Too many years

I wondered,
Hoping to soon see
Tyler Jr. come along,
Like every summer,
To create his yearly tree house
In her arms

But apparently, not this year…

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