Dreams and Trepidations

June 6, 2011
By HeliotropeRoots BRONZE, Renton, Washington
HeliotropeRoots BRONZE, Renton, Washington
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

The ancient knotted willow tree, so beautifully ugly,
Stands in righteous solitude amongst the towers and fortresses of a roaring metropolis.
This tree has seen the fall of empires and the demise of thousands,
But now feels the slithery grasp of Death intertwining around its trunk,
As it is poisoned by the air it breathes and the water it drinks.
With whooshing gasps through leaves of dying umber the willow tree sinks its crooked roots into dry earth,
And flutters its slender limbs as children trail their soft hands over the wrinkles of its bark.

There is a girl who sheds not a tear for the earth,
I do not believe that the time to mourn has come just yet.

The quiet young man, an antique western sky
Reflecting off soft cerulean eyes,
Reaches his hand through a fence to grasp the delicate chestnut fingers of the beautiful Shoshone girl.
He listens as she speaks of heaven and hell with words scratched on buffalo hides,
He watches with melting eyes as she falls upon the dust where her people used to roam,
Killed by the hands of prejudice and intolerance.
With broken soul and twisted heart he cries as he presses the barrel against his temple and flinches
As the handgun lets out a deafening blast that echoes across an empty prairie.

There is a girl who is saddened by the hatred that permeates the core of humanity,

I do not believe that the time to give up has come just yet.

The girl, wrapped within her own dreams and trepidations,
Sits in a forest of emerald green.
Her face is dissolved in a wave of canary yellow as she closes her eyes and breathes in the sounds of chaos

And exhales the essence of tranquility.
As society dissipates into a stream of oblivion she feels the combined heartbeat of millions,
Palpitations of energy erupting into the harmonious, discordant orchestra of life,
And she is part of that life.
She lets herself be bombarded with all that the world has to offer,
With a clang she feels her spirit break free from its cage of iron and debris.

There is a girl who is blinded by the illusion of disconnection,

I do not believe that the time to lose harmony has come just yet.

The author's comments:
This was inspired by Walt Whitman's poem "Song of Myself."

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