She.
Tree.
Intoxicating me
with her blossom perfume.
Remember her
in human form?
She used to be proud.
Now she gets her branches cut,
to make her fit the space
she inhabits.
In another life
she would've cut her face
to spite her nose.
Her limbs used to could take no more
due to all that she could not let go,
carrying on and on and on.
Now she stood tall,
going nowhere at all.
In another life
she was full of strife.
Now she was a tree.
And she learned to just be.
To let her branches go
when they went,
And the leaves fall,
And the seeds roll.
And it came to an end,
her life as a tree.
As another cycle closed,
And she found herself free
From the grip of her pride,
And the compulsory vibe
to be everyone's bride
And hold on to it all,
do it all, want it all.
Spirit found a repose.
She
as a tree
had learned to just be
with whatever was
whenever it was -
come winter, spring, summer and fall.
And she moved, ya'll,
to the next cycle
with peace in her heart.
She wondered -
Are we trees?
Made to grow in civilization
for motivation?
Getting trimmed at the edges,
given to grow in a place
we wouldn't have gone
on our own.
But given the chance to
grow walnuts in a desert.
Given the chance to be
Trees on the run.
Making Paradise
On Earth just for fun.
